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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525086">Breaking [My Heart]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighteye/pseuds/brighteye'>brighteye</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dark, F/M, POV Multiple, Psychological Torture, Torture, mercykill - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:54:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighteye/pseuds/brighteye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I / Always something in this everchanging life" - Everchanging [Rise Against]</p><p>Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as "Mercy" - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Act I: Capturing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Trigger Warnings</strong><br/>
I am choosing not to post any trigger warnings aside from the tags of "Dark", "Torture", and "Psychological Torture". I will not be tagging any chapter specifically for anything in particular. While <em>I</em> don't think the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes <em>are</em> present and aren't for everyone.<br/>
<br/>
I <em>did</em> try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology).<br/>
<br/>
There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character.<br/>
<br/>
Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>There’s no pain that I won’t go through<br/>
Even if I have to die for you </em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Die for You [Starset] </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Angela idly ran her fingers along a familiar storage container as she moved to her closet. It had been a long time since she had opened it to don her Valkyrie suit and carry her Caduceus staff, since she had been Mercy – and she wasn’t changing that today. Instead, she tugged on a mismatched set of scrubs, a pair of boots, and her medical coat. Angela pulled her hair up off her neck into a tight bun before slathering herself with sunscreen. Her pale skin would turn red and blistered if she didn’t take the precaution; she didn’t particularly want to be <em>more</em> miserable than she already was here.</p><p>With a long-suffering sigh, she left her small apartment and stepped into the heat of the day. She missed Switzerland; it was so <em>hot</em> here in Cairo compared to her cooler homeland. But her comfort didn’t matter – no, what mattered were that people were suffering here. They may scoff and scowl at her, growl that she was not welcome, but that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that she could help these people, regardless of what they thought, and that was what she would do.</p><p>Immediately, sweat prickled along her skin, but she ignored it. She pulled out a tablet instead, swiping through the information there to determine how her day would pass. There were many patients to check in on, either to look over their bandages or to provide medication. She had a surgery planned for later in the day – some poor man was losing his arm.</p><p>All of this assumed that nothing happened to upset the delicate balance. No new attacks – terrorist or gang, it all ended the same for her – or significant accidents that left everything spinning out of control. Not that she would utter one word of complaint; these people deserved the best she could provide after all they had been through. It wasn’t their fault that the world had fallen to pieces. No, that burden fell across her shoulders and all those who had been with Overwatch when it had collapsed. They had done much good, but they had also been the cause for so much horror as well.</p><p>Now, Winston was trying to resurrect the organization, to pull Overwatch back from the ashes. Her communicator – a relic from her past that she couldn’t seem to let go of – had been blinking when she had returned home two days ago. In a different, <em>better,</em> lifetime, Angela would have carried it with her everywhere she went; now, it was an awkward paperweight on her kitchen counter that she sometimes remembered to pocket on the chance that one of her friends would call. She had been curious – who wouldn’t be? – so she had watched his video message. Once it was over, Angela had sat back with her arms crossed, teeth worrying at her lower lip.</p><p>Did she want to go back?</p><p>Her life had been so much different since the fall. All her life’s work had been taken from her by the UN and WHO to be distributed among others after Overwatch had fallen. She had become a pariah where once she had been much sought after for her prowess in both the research labs and operating rooms. Now, she faced scorn everywhere she went.</p><p>She had been the last defender of Overwatch, after all.</p><p>Angela had been one of the most visible members of Overwatch – her wings had made that almost a foregone conclusion, even if they <em>weren’t</em> excellent PR material – and thus many recognized her, even outside of her Valkyrie suit. In the aftermath of the fall, Angela had stood in the spotlight to try to appease the masses.</p><p>Did she want to pick up the pieces and start over again?</p><p>All she had ever wanted to do was help people. Mostly, she had succeeded at that in Overwatch. Angela had helped minimize – and mitigate – civilian loss, both in the planning and execution phases of strike missions. As often as she was able, she had served on the front lines to help defend not only the agents of Overwatch, but the innocents caught in the middle. She had spearheaded innovative research that was, even now, being expanded upon to better the world.</p><p>Could she do it all again?</p><p>She wasn’t sure her heart could survive a second round. It had nearly killed her the first time to bury the victims and support the survivors. Angela didn’t even know where most of her friends <em>were </em>on most days. Genji had gone to Nepal and, as far as she was aware, hadn’t left. Similarly, Winston had holed up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar to safeguard Athena and what files remained of Overwatch.</p><p>But the rest? Last she had heard, Lena was prowling around England, and McCree had racked up an <em>enormous</em> bounty in North America. Reinhardt had convinced Torbjörn’s daughter, Brigitte, to follow him across Europe as he continued to protect the weak. Torbjörn had told her about it a few months ago, grumpy in his worry for the two. Two of her medics, Remington and Daigneau, crossed her path occasionally. They had followed in her footsteps – or steps just like them – and had joined the Doctors Without Borders.</p><p>Angela wondered which, if any, of them would answer the call</p><p>Angela wasn’t sure she would. This wasn’t a decision she could make lightly. One would make her a criminal – Overwatch was disbanded and forced into inaction by the PETRAS act. The other would make her – what? A coward? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if she didn’t answer, her life would continue as normal. It wasn’t glamorous – quite the opposite, in fact. It was hard and dirty, but she would be helping people. If she answered, her life would change <em>again</em>. And this time, there were no guarantees – Overwatch was rising, starting from nothing to try to safeguard the world once more.</p><p>Angela wasn’t sure what the right path was – so she left the blinking “Y // N” unanswered.</p><p>---</p><p>For once, her day went mostly as planned. Usually, some sort of emergency occurred, throwing off her day and putting her timetable into disarray. She thrived in the chaos: hurriedly reprioritizing patients and rushing around, trying to keep everyone alive and comfortable, made it easy to forget the nightmares and the heartbreak that was her life. Not that her day wasn’t busy, even without interruptions or surprises – it just was orderly.</p><p>She opened the door to her apartment with a sigh, rubbing at her back with a free hand. Maybe she would take a bath tonight and try to force her body into some semblance of relaxation. Angela locked the door before flipping the lights on and striding further into the small space she currently called home – and then froze, eyes widening. It was only her years of combat experience that kept the keys within her suddenly numb fingers.</p><p>The Reaper was here.</p><p>He was settled on her only couch, lazily reclined as if this was <em>his</em> home and not hers. His face, hidden by a bone white skull mask, had turned to regard her. Despite his casual pose, his very presence was menacing – and that was before she took in the shotgun on the cushion next to him. She wasn’t fooled; Angela was confident he could have it in his hands and fired before she could reach the door. Her hand dropped to her waist automatically, where her blaster used to sit – but she hadn’t carried the weapon in years.</p><p>Angela knew that she should have started carrying it again after the cryptic phone call she had received a week ago. It had been a warning of impending danger and that she should leave Cairo to find help before it was too late. The caller had had enough information about her to make her nervous, but she hadn’t been willing to allow it to drive her away.</p><p>Danger? Ever since she had joined Overwatch, that had been her life. Angela had served as the Medical Director, a powerful position made even stronger by her will and sheer genius; there were very few Overwatch operatives that were more valuable than she was. Then, she had enlisted as a combat medic and protected their strike teams – and she had the scars to prove it. Now, her life wasn’t much different from that of her time in the field; uncomfortable lodgings, dangerous surroundings, long work hours, and generally ungrateful patients that laid the blame for their troubles at her feet.</p><p>She should have taken precautions when she had stayed. Angela should have called one of her friends – her protectors – about the warning, but she hadn’t wanted to get them worked up over what was probably nothing. She should have carried her weapon, but she had worried that it would bother her patients – and she already had enough trouble with <em>that</em>. She could have even moved to make it a little harder for an enemy to find her, but she barely had time to eat most days.</p><p>Besides, she had believed that it was probably little more than a prank. Even now, years after the fall, people still grumbled about Overwatch. She’d had her fair share of curses thrown her way, and, in the early days, she <em>had</em> received plenty of prank calls that varied in nature. There was little to make her believe this was more than that. Angela had been safe – from terrorists, anyway – for years; there was no reason to think that had changed.</p><p>Angela cursed her pride. She had become complacent, thinking she knew best. Now, she would pay the price for her hubris.</p><p>“Well, well,” the man growled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clawed fingers steepled before him, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come home, Mercy.” Angela grimaced. She hadn’t answered to that name for years; it was a callsign that was as dead as the organization that had coined it.</p><p>“That is not my name anymore.” Angela corrected automatically; it was a habit so ingrained she couldn’t stop the words from falling from her lips. She kept herself from wincing at the foolish declaration and instead donned an air of cool detachment. Her pride demanded that she keep her fear hidden from him, that she could show no weakness before her obvious predator.</p><p>And he <em>was</em> a predator. The Reaper was well known for his violence; terrible, mutilated bodies were left in his wake wherever he went. More than one ex-Overwatch member had been his victim. That he would appear here, before Overwatch’s guardian angel – their <em>Mercy</em> – meant she was in his sights now. She wondered what it was he wanted from her – and if she would give it. The doctor was <em>fairly</em> sure that he wasn’t here for her blood. After all, why speak to her if all he wanted was to kill her?</p><p>“That’s too bad.” He rose, grabbed the shotgun, and aimed it at her in one singular, fluid motion. “It’s Mercy I am looking for.” It had been a long time since she had stared down a barrel of a gun; she had forgotten just how terrifying it was. Angela forced herself to stiffen her spine and raise her chin slightly in defiance. If she were going to die, it would not be cowering.</p><p>“What do you want from me?” She demanded, somehow managing to keep the words steady. That he hadn’t pulled the trigger meant that he was willing to overlook her verbal misstep earlier. It meant that whatever he wanted was more important than spilling her blood – right now.</p><p>“Information, of course.” The gun remained trained on her, but Angela forced her eyes to move past it to his body. Hopefully, should he decide to pull the trigger, she would see it telegraphed in his body language and escape. It was a dubious hope, considering his kill sheet, but it was all she had to hold on to now.</p><p>“I haven’t been active in years,” the doctor deflected. “I could not <em>possibly</em> have any information you need.” Angela knew it was a lie even as the words fell from her lips. She had information that would be valuable to the wrong organizations. Locations of prominent members – such as Genji, who had, for all appearances, fallen off the map – was only the tip of the iceberg.</p><p>While she had been removed from research by the UN and WHO, she still was one of the greatest medical minds of their time. Under her guidance, medicine had improved by leaps and bounds; it was a pity she no longer could continue such works. They had relegated her to the sidelines, only contacted for advice or ideas. Reaper clicked his tongue disapprovingly.</p><p>“And here I heard you were a genius.” Nothing could have kept her still when he started stalking across the room towards her. She backed away, keys dropping to the floor, until there was nowhere left to go – and then he was barely an arm’s length away from her. “You expect me to believe that Overwatch is on the rise, and <em>no one</em> told you?”</p><p>“Overwatch is dead and gone.” The words did not tug at her heart, did not cause any emotional response at all. She had long since come to terms with the closure of that chapter of her life. Angela would not acknowledge the call that had been put out, would not confirm or deny that Overwatch was trying to reform. While she had not decided if she would return, she would not risk the safety of those who answered.</p><p>“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Resolution filled her. This man, <em>monster</em>, wanted information on her friends; she would not – <em>could</em> not – give it to him. Even if it killed her, she would protect them. They were still hers to shield, whether she was with them or apart. That was her last, final burden from her days with <em>her </em>Overwatch, and it would be hers to carry until she died.</p><p>“Then you clearly know more than I do.” Angela lied easily. It surprised her that Talon already knew of the recall. They must have intercepted the transmission; the idea of <em>any</em> prior member of Overwatch turning to Talon was a hard pill to swallow, even considering how the organization had fallen.</p><p>“Lying will only make this worse for you, <em>Mercy</em>.” Her callsign was a taunt, bait that she refused to take a second time. Pure terror had flooded her veins; it was only an act of sheer willpower that had kept her knees from giving out underneath her. This was the worst she had faced yet, but she would face it standing.</p><p>“It is not a lie,” Angela insisted. “Overwatch <em>is</em> dead.” Even if she rejoined under Winston’s banner, she was certain that she would always consider Overwatch – or at least, <em>her</em> Overwatch – dead. How could it exist in a place that her friends, her family, did not?</p><p>“Last chance.” He warned; it surprised her that he gave her one at all. Even so, Angela did not consider, not even for one moment, to provide him with the information he wanted to protect herself. In defense of others, she was at her most stubborn and determined. That cost had come to her in the form of bullet wounds and nightmares when she was with Overwatch; here, that cost would – hopefully – be her demise.</p><p>She was all too aware that there were many things worse than death.</p><p>Angela remained silent, her eyes staring a challenge at the slits where she knew the Reaper’s eyes peered from. If he would not accept her lie the first two times, it would be pointless to voice it again. After a long moment, the man let the gun drop so he could crowd her against the door. One clawed hand rose to grip her throat, tilting her chin to look up towards the mask that hovered above her.</p><p>“Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” He growled, rebuke and glee twisted around the words. He increased the pressure, cutting off the blood flow to her brain; despite the futility of the action, Angela’s hands raised to try to pry his fingers away. Her vision swam as she desperately clung to consciousness. It was a useless effort; within moments, she was unconscious.</p>
<hr/><p>The Reaper watched as Angela regained consciousness through the single window into the concrete room that was now her home. She looked insubstantial, almost ethereal, under the lights meant to keep her blind to her surroundings. The woman was hanging from chains in the precise center of the room. She barely had enough slack to rest her weight on her feet properly. While she had been unconscious, her wrists and shoulders had held that weight entirely in a way that was designed to be painful.</p><p>Gabriel watched through the Reapers’ eyes as she pulled against the chains that held her. Saw the confusion play across her face as she heard the faint clanking, which turned to pain as she realized the stress her wrists and shoulders had been placed under. Then, her eyes fluttered open, blinking painfully in the too-bright light, before futilely trying to look up at the chains. He saw the curious detachment turn to stark panic before smoothing away into a neutral façade.</p><p>He was unsurprised that she didn’t test the bonds further, that she didn’t call out, and kept her noise to a minimum. While Angela hadn’t had any special training in <em>this</em> aspect of their lives – they had never expected anyone to <em>actually</em> succeed in capturing her, not with the number of people willing to lay down their own lives for hers – she was a smart woman. Angela knew the grim reality she now faced. She had to know that the chains were the least of what she would meet in that room of gray and white.</p><p>The Reaper supposed he should alert someone that she was, finally, conscious.</p><p>Still, he lingered for a few minutes longer, relishing in her helplessness. After so long, he was going to see her pay for what she had done. The Reaper had fantasized about this day for <em>years</em>. Slowly, agonizingly, they would exact his revenge upon her flesh. He would drink down her pain and agony until, finally, the angel before him was no more.</p><p>He had been tempted to be the one to break her – to split her flesh and flay her heart. It would be the least that she – that <em>he </em>– deserved after the pain she had inflicted. The council had even offered it to him, knowing the history that lay between the two. It surprised Gabriel that they hadn’t ordered him to do it, to prove his loyalties yet again to the terrorist organization that he had once fought against.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if he felt rage or relief that they had not taken that choice away from him.</p><p>Instead, Gabriel had found the strength to decline. The Reaper, usually the stronger of the two after so long, had been forced to accept his decision. They would observe, either from this little room or through the security feeds, whenever their other duties allowed.</p><p>The Reaper, the dark, violent portion of his soul given life, would like nothing more than to tear apart, piece by piece, the woman who had turned him – them – into this. He would revel in the blood and agony, far more than any other member of Talon would. It was only fair, after all. Knowingly or not, she had condemned Gabriel to an existence that was the antithesis of everything he had once stood for. Everything <em>she</em> stood for.</p><p>Gabriel wanted her to hurt, to <em>feel</em> what she had done to him – but he couldn’t be the one to do it.</p><p>He knew that, should he go in there and break her, he would also break himself. The last, tenuous grasp he had on his humanity, on <em>Gabriel </em>and not the <em>Reaper</em>, lay within the blonde doctor trapped in the room before him. She had grounded him, had reminded him of his purpose, even while she was completely unaware of the shadow that stalked her.</p><p>Even now, after everything, there was a part of Gabriel that loved her. There was a part that still remembered the promises he had made her – that they had made each other. He had given his heart to her, long ago in a place that he had destroyed, and she had never returned it. Instead, she had ripped her own from his grasp and left him with nothing but darkness and pain. All that remained was a monster that consumed the living with a terrible hunger that was never sated.</p><p>On that dark day in Zürich over five years ago, Gabriel had destroyed her world. On that same day, Angela had forced the shadows upon him and shattered his psyche. He wondered if it had been a purposeful act, a punishment for the pain he had wrought, or a mere accident of science. That she hadn’t sought him out, had said nothing about the Reaper and who he might be, made him believe it was the latter. That Moira, a geneticist who – within her specialized field of study – could outsmart even Overwatch’s miracle worker, could not replicate it only reaffirmed that belief.</p><p>That did not slake his anger in the slightest.</p><p>The Reaper turned and stalked out of the small observation room, eager for them to begin his revenge. He was ready to drown in her blood and pain. The Reaper’s only hope was that she put on a good show before she eventually broke.</p>
<hr/><p>Angela wondered, vaguely, how long it would take for people to realize she was gone. Then, once her absence was noted, how long would it take before they realized it was by force rather than by choice? How long would it take for someone – anyone – to come looking for her? And, when they did, would they even be able to find her before it was too late?</p><p>She tried to recall the last time she had spoken to any of her friends. There was no set schedule – sometimes she could go months without hearing from one or more of them, leaving her to worry that perhaps <em>this</em> time they had actually died and she would never hear from them again. Had she spoken to anyone recently? Stressed as she was, Angela couldn’t remember.</p><p>She knew these thoughts were just a byproduct of her fear, but that did nothing to stop them – or to keep them from affecting her. There was nothing but pain and terror for her now. Either she could imagine the horrors that would be inflicted upon her in this room, or she could worry about the rescue that would never come. Angela was a firm optimist when it came to everyone but herself. She could hold on to hope that she could save others, but she did not believe anyone would save her. How could they?</p><p>Angela was going to die in agony in their defense – and they would, probably, never know it.</p><p>Or, perhaps, Talon would take pity on them. Maybe they would dump her mangled body for some poor soul to stumble upon. The media would go crazy – the last of the old guard, Overwatch’s angel, had perished – and her friends would mourn, but there would be closure. It wouldn’t be a mystery, whose answer had only been assumed after so many years of silence, like the deaths of their Commanders.</p><p>Her friends. Her family.</p><p>Despite her determination to show no fear for as long as she was capable, the door slamming open made her jump. The motion made her sway unsteadily on her feet, her shoulders complaining at the movement. Angela would welcome the distraction from her thoughts if it weren’t for the fact that it heralded far worse than what her mind could conjure.</p><p>The blinding lights, shining hot and bright from the ceiling somewhere above, kept her from seeing her captors as they entered the room. There were at least two – perhaps three – sets of footsteps before the door slammed shut again. Suitably warned of her audience, though she was confident that someone was watching her even when she was alone, she kept her chin up and her face schooled in a calm veneer. It was a well-used expression that came easily to her after so many years of practice.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Angela wondered if they expected her to break it, to demand answers that she would never receive. Perhaps, were she standing on her own ground, she would challenge them, but here? She was positive that she had never been more aware of her fragility. Of her mortality.</p><p>She didn’t know what game they were playing, what tactics they were using. It didn’t particularly matter; Angela had plenty of patience. While she wasn’t certain her silence would bring a better or worse outcome – she wasn’t versed in interrogation (her mind skittered away from the more horrible word that applied to her situation) techniques – she would remain silent, regardless.</p><p>Angela wasn’t under any illusions that she would escape this unscathed. She didn’t even believe she would escape at <em>all</em>. Still, her pride demanded that she make whatever stand she could. She was Dr. Angela Ziegler. She was the last bastion of Overwatch, their <em>Mercy</em>. Angela could – would – rise to the challenge and don the mantle of a hero one last time.</p><p>A hand yanked her head back by her hair suddenly, turning her vision a blinding white before she could screw her eyes shut against the light and pain.</p><p>That was when the demands began. Where were the prior members of Overwatch? Who would answer the call of reformation? Where would they make their home base? They enumerated names – Jesse McCree, Howard Remington, Wilhelm Reinhardt – throughout, asking for specific information on every person she might still be in communication with. There were questions about her medical research, words awkwardly shaped by mouths that didn’t understand what they were asking.</p><p>Angela refused to answer. Every time a question was met with silence, they would strike a blow. On her chest, just below her collarbone; her back, mere inches above her kidneys; her stomach, choking her as she gasped for air and swallowed back bile. She had never experienced violence, not <em>personally</em>, without her Valkyrie suit. She lamented its absence, wishing for the pain relief it brought.</p><p>Instead, she had to grit her teeth and bear it. She reminded herself firmly that she had suffered before. Angela had been shot multiple times on varying occasions, had a building collapse on her, had darted through flames – but she’d had the Valkyrie suit to support her through it. Without it, those experiences were minimal compared to all that would come in this room. Her head bowed, hairs that had come loose from the bun she had tied just this morning – was it still the same day? She didn’t know – fanning around her face, and her eyes closed as she forced herself to do nothing more than grunt in pain.</p><p>As they methodically dealt blows to her, she could feel the nanites within her body, putting her back together. They were her miracle, her salvation, her devastation. Angela’s body would heal much quicker than any human could naturally heal – though not anywhere near instantaneous – and prolong her agony in this terrible place. If they waited long enough, her body would be just as whole as it was when they brought her here; they wouldn’t have to lift a finger in her care.</p><p>Angela didn’t know how long they stayed in the room with her. With her medical prowess and combat experience, she knew that they had done no lasting harm in this opening act. There were bruises, but they had broken nothing. They had taken care to avoid her kidneys and spine when they struck her back – and they hadn’t once touched her head at all after they released her hair at the very beginning.</p><p>They were only warming up.</p><p>The men – she assumed they were all men, as the lights had been far too bright for her to make out any of their features – had filed out as quietly as they had come. Angela did not hear it lock, but why would it? She wasn’t a flight risk; she couldn’t even protect herself, much less stage an escape from these chains. The lights remained on as she stood, swaying slightly on her feet, in her cage. Her head remained bowed, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps through bruised ribs.</p><p>Angela had told herself to be brave, to protect her friends and family unto death itself – but that was a simple decision when it was calm and still. It was so much harder when the pain was real, not imagined, and death was approaching one slow, agonizing inch at a time. Each blow that struck her body had also struck her resolution, battering against the walls she had erected around her heart and soul so she could be this last, final defense.</p><p>She could only hope that she could hold her conviction close in the coming days when things would be even more desolate. Somehow, despite it all, she must survive.</p>
<hr/><p>The Reaper had watched, arms crossed and face impassive behind his mask, as the doctor was beaten. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he had expected to feel, watching her bite back sounds of pain and struggle to keep herself hidden away behind her aloof mask. The Reaper had no such qualms.</p><p>He held a vicious glee, born from the sight of her dangling helplessly from her chains. It wasn’t quite the same as the euphoria he had felt when he had held her helpless form in his hands, but it had a terrible similarity. Her invisible flesh, hidden behind the scrubs she had been wearing when he had captured her, tempered the emotion. Though he was familiar enough with her body to imagine the mottled purple-black that would decorate her skin, it wasn’t quite the same.</p><p>Indeed, he felt rage and resentment, ever-present whenever the Reaper looked upon the woman that had cursed them. It had grown, bottled up inside his dark heart, and was now finding some release as he took in her battered form. The relief was minor; without her blood, her bruised flesh, her <em>screams</em>, it was barely worth the effort of watching this first session.</p><p>Angela had taken many painfully calculated blows, but it had been gentle compared to the misery he knew those men were capable of. He wasn’t sure if they had underestimated the doctor, as he had, or if they were just testing the waters. Gabriel had known that she would take blows – she was far too stubborn for her own good, just like another specter from his past.</p><p>What he hadn’t expected was that she would remain silent the <em>entire </em>time.</p><p>The Reaper felt robbed, somehow. Cheated. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was <em>supposed</em> to break, to scream, cry, beg, do <em>something</em> other than hang there in near-perfect silence. Angela had never had the highest pain tolerance, relying heavily on the Valkyrie suit to ignore injuries, and yet she had endured with barely a sound. Even now, she was collecting herself, her labored pants turning to soft breaths as she hung there with her head bowed.</p><p>But maybe he was the fool. It had been years since he had experienced the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler. He had forgotten how fiercely protective she was. Had forgotten that she forced her way onto battlefields to defend what was hers, because that was her <em>duty</em>. Had forgotten the iron steel that surrounded her heart, that she <em>had</em> to have to carry the burdens she so willingly shouldered. Had forgotten that she <em>never</em> showed weakness before anyone, that she always hid it away to deal with in private.</p><p>Gabriel had only forgotten because, at one time, he had been the only exception to her rule.</p><p>He had been the one she had turned to when everything – the research, missions, surgeries, nightmares, <em>deaths</em> – became too hard to carry alone. While Gabriel had never succeeded in taking the weight from her shoulders, it had been his honor to support her while she recovered. He had been the only one to see how terribly affected she was by everything. When she graced everyone else with steely eyes and gentle smiles, she had allowed him to see her nagging self-doubt and endless guilt.</p><p>He had seen her, <em>all</em> of her. From grief-stricken after Ana’s death to worry when Jack had been airlifted back to Zürich. Her incandescent rage when Gabriel had demanded she stay out of the field to pure terror after he had taken a bullet for her. The stark relief when he returned home after a dangerous mission to mindless bliss within the safety of their bed. Everything that she was, he had seen – and could still see, even now.</p><p>Gabriel could read her better than anyone in the world. He knew the little signs, the tells that gave her away to him; even after all this time, she was still the same. Angela had a tight grip on her emotions – always had – but Gabriel could see the terror that she had masked behind the stone wall of her face. Others might miss it, think she was just as unfeeling as her reputation had claimed, but he knew better.</p><p>She felt more intensely and more purely than any other person he’d ever known. But, to survive as a child prodigy, as a medical genius ten years younger than her peers, she had to become <em>more</em>. As a girl and then a woman, Angela learned that the world would use her emotions as a weapon against her – so she had hidden them from sight. Even among friends – even alone with him – she’d had a hard time dropping those walls.</p><p>Here, those walls would be put to the ultimate test. The Reaper intended to see them fall, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but a quivering human in the place of the angel. And then, once she had been brought back to Earth, he would kill her like the mortal she was.</p>
<hr/><p>Jesse frowned down at the communicator in his hand. He had called to check in on Angela the afternoon before, but he hadn’t heard from her. That was unlike her; since the fall of Overwatch, she had <em>always</em> answered – or called back if she truly was incapable of answering – when they called.</p><p>He knew she worried about them, the family that she had been the heart of, even now – perhaps <em>especially</em> now – when they were no longer her responsibility. Angela would drop nearly everything to go to one of them if they called, no matter how far the distance. Jesse knew that he – and many, if not all – of the others would do the same for her.</p><p>She was theirs just as much as they were hers.</p><p>The cowboy wondered if it was Winston’s message, sent four nights ago, that was keeping her silent. Perhaps she thought one of them would try to talk her into – or out of – recreating the organization that had brought them together. That didn’t sound like the Angela he knew, though. Jesse thought she might be <em>more</em> likely to receive a call right now. She wasn’t one to avoid a conversation just because it might be uncomfortable. It was that knowledge that had him dialing another number.</p><p>“Hi there, McCree,” Winston’s voice filled his ear. At least he knew it wasn’t technical difficulties keeping him from hearing from their doctor. “I wasn’t sure I would hear from you.” If Angela hadn’t gone dark, Jesse wouldn’t have called in at all – not yet, at least. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to go back, to try again after everything that had happened.</p><p>“Hey there, big guy.” He and Winston weren’t close – their paths hadn’t crossed much during their time with Overwatch, given that Winston wasn’t <em>exactly</em> stealthy – but they were amicable enough. “I’m not callin’ ‘bout Overwatch, not right now, anyway.” He admitted, quickly changing the subject. “Have ya heard from Ange in the last coupla days? I can’t seem t’get ahold’a her.”</p><p>“Dr. Ziegler?” Jesse rolled his eyes. Angela had been Winston’s first friend and champion – had gotten into quite a bit of trouble over the gorilla, in fact, if he recalled correctly – and Winston <em>still</em> didn’t call her by name. “I haven’t heard from her since I sent the recall out. Athena,” Winston turned his attention away from Jesse for a moment, “did Dr. Ziegler view the recall?”</p><p>“My files indicate that she viewed your message one hour and thirty-seven minutes after you sent it.” A digitized feminine voice replied after a moment. It had been a long time since he’d heard Athena’s voice. She was an AI that his friend, Dr. Liao, had created, and now served as Winston’s assistant and advisor after Overwatch had disbanded. She was amazingly smart and had been a great asset for all of them – just as Dr. Liao had once been.</p><p>“So, she got th’ message,” Jesse mused. “Wonder why she ain’t answerin’ then.” Clearly, it wasn’t a problem of technology. She simply wasn’t answering or returning calls – at least, not his calls. Just because Winston hadn’t heard from her didn’t mean she wasn’t calling people. “Can Athena tell if she’s talked t’anyone?” Winston relayed the question.</p><p>“I do not show that Dr. Ziegler has made any calls since Winston sent out the recall. I show that she has received three calls – two from Jesse McCree and one from Lena Oxton. None were accepted.” The amount of information Athena could access was terrifying. All their electrical equipment – communicators, comm systems, probably Angela’s staff for all he knew – were connected to Athena since before Overwatch fell. Most had left those systems alone, though he was pretty sure some people had disabled it.</p><p>“That ain’ like her.” Now Jesse was even <em>more</em> worried. He had hoped it was just him – either she was avoiding talking to him for some reason, or their communicators were just busted – but she wasn’t talking to <em>anyone</em>. Before the fall, he could <em>maybe</em> see Angela getting distracted enough to forget to return a call or two, but now? Since the fall – since they’d lost so much – she had <em>always</em> answered and made time for them.</p><p>“No, it isn’t.” Winston agreed gravely. There wasn’t much either of them could do about it, though. Jesse was hunkered down in an abandoned house in the middle of Arkansas, trying to let the heat die down. His bounty, somewhere in the ballpark of seventy million the last time he’d checked, made it hard for him to get around sometimes. Likewise, Winston was stuck in Watchpoint: Gibraltar – though he might be moving since Talon was aware of his location and he was trying to raise Overwatch back from the dead.</p><p>“Her communicator is still at her last known address. The Valkyrie and Caduceus systems are down.” Athena added helpfully as the two tried to figure out what to do. “Last known location is also her last known address.” That wasn’t like her. Angela didn’t go off the grid – she <em>was</em> the goddamned grid. Everywhere she went, she made waves, whether she wanted to or not.</p><p>“Lemme make a call, see if I can’t get someone to go look in on her.” Jesse only knew of one person in that part of the world. Hopefully, she’d be willing and able to get away long enough to help them out. He disconnected and dialed a second number. “C’mon, pick up already.” He grumbled under his breath as it rang and rang.</p><p>“You have reached Captain Fareeha Amari of Helix Security International.” Of course he’d be sent to voicemail; that was just his luck. “Please leave your number and a detailed message, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.” There was a brief pause, and then a beep indicated that it was his turn to speak.</p><p>“Hey there, Fareeha, it’s Jesse.” He worried about leaving his name on her voicemail – he didn’t want her to get in trouble for associating with a criminal. “Y’might not remember me, but I used t’work with your mom. Couldja call me back, soon as ya get this? It’s <em>real</em> important.” He left his number and hung up, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. Now came the waiting.</p><p>---</p><p>“‘lo?” He answered groggily, shoving his hat back into place and rubbing at his face with his free hand. It had been hours since he had left the voicemail; he wasn’t sure if he would even get a response today – or ever.</p><p>“Jesse?” Fareeha’s voice was quiet, like she was trying not to be overheard. That was fair – he was a criminal with an enormous bounty on his head. Someone like her – a <em>Captain</em>, taking after her mother – shouldn’t be seen interacting with someone like him. If it hadn’t been for Angela, he never would have called at all.</p><p>“Yeah – yeah, it’s me.” He sat up, more alert now. Jesse had forgotten what a pain time zones were; he’d probably called her in the middle of the night, just like she had. At least he had woken up. “Sorry for callin’ outta th’ blue like this. Doubt ya even remember me.” He’d spoken to her a few times before everything came crashing down, but Ana had tried to keep Fareeha separate from Overwatch as much as possible.</p><p>“You let me wear your hat, once.” Her voice was wistful, reminiscent of her younger days. “My mother took a picture; I have it somewhere.” Huh. So she remembered him, after all. Now he felt a little guilty, not calling and checking on the younger Amari. Ana would have wanted him to do that.</p><p>Angela had, he knew – but she checked on everyone.</p><p>“What’s happened?” God, she sounded so much like her mother. Ana always cut to the heart of the matter, too, rarely tolerating idle chit-chat when there were things to be done.</p><p>“It’s Ange. Uh,” she probably didn’t know Angela by that name, “I mean, Angela. Dr. Ziegler – Mercy.” The names tumbled over each other awkwardly; it had been a long time since he had used any of them. “We can’t seem t’get ahold’a her. I was wonderin’ if you could maybe go check in on her?” It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had. If he had to go, it would be days before he reached Cairo.</p><p>“I don’t know if I can get away,” Fareeha said after a moment of consideration. Jesse relaxed a little; she wasn’t going to blow him off. “Where is she? If it’s close, maybe I won’t have to ask.” Jesse pulled up the address and read it off to her. “Hmm, too far.” Fareeha sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” It wasn’t much, but it was better than ‘no’ at least.</p><p>“I really appreciate it, Fareeha. <em>Really</em>.” He tried to pump as much sincerity into the words. Fareeha didn’t have to do this for a stranger from her mothers’ past, but she was willing to try, anyway.</p><p>“She’s my friend, too.” She hung up before he could respond. That blade of guilt twisted in his heart again. He was an ass. If they were both alive at the end of this, Jesse would make up for it. Do what Ana would have done for them, what Angela <em>did</em> for them.</p><p>He looked at his silent communicator, blinking the time – it was just a little past three in the morning. With a sigh, he set it back onto the floor next to him. Jesse leaned back against the wall and pulled his hat down over his face once more.</p><p>Maybe they were all overreacting. Maybe something had kept Angela busy these past days, so busy she came home too exhausted to do more than crawl into bed. <em>That</em> was something he could see her doing – she was notorious for it – but wouldn’t she call back in the morning? It just didn’t sit right with him. Jesse closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor so he could get some rest. He had a feeling he was going to need it.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Here you are down on your knees again </em><br/>
<em>Trying to find air to breathe again</em><br/>
<em>And only surrender will help you now </em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Again [Flyleaf] </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've posted this same story on tumblr [handle thebrighteye]; it has a pandora playlist for this story if anyone is interested!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Act II: Exposing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I want someone to hurt<br/>
Like the way I hurt<br/>
It’s sick but it makes me feel better </em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Sometimes [Skillet] </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>

 “How’s our <em>doctora</em>?” Gabriel didn’t react to the woman that was suddenly at his shoulder. One of her favorite ‘pranks’ was to sneak up on various agents to try to startle them. Instead, he suppressed a long-suffering sigh and glanced towards her briefly – not that she could see, with his eyes hidden behind the mask – before turning his attention back to Angela and her interrogators.<br/>
<br/>
“See for yourself.” The Reaper gestured towards the window with one clawed hand. He knew that Sombra knew how Angela was; there were two cameras inside that chamber. If <em>anyone</em> thought for a single second that Sombra couldn’t access<em> every</em> electronic in this base, then they were an idiot. She had come down here to needle him, as she was wont to do.<br/>
<br/>
The Mexican woman hummed, leaning forward to press both forearms against the small desk that sat against the wall directly under the glass that showcased the woman in question. The space was meant for someone to take notes, but with the cameras it was made pointless. Instead, it was used to set down whatever the observer didn’t want to hold while watching; perhaps a file folder, maybe a drink – it varied depending on the person. Right now, the desk was completely empty.<br/>
<br/>
Angela was still hanging from the chains with her head bowed as she fought for silence, her breaths coming in heavy, desperate pants. They had sliced her top clean through along her spine, leaving it to hang limply from her shoulders. If her arms weren’t chained above her head, the cloth – and the doctor – would undoubtedly be on the floor.<br/>
<br/>
There were three men in the room. One stood before her, barking questions. They were all a variation of the questions they had asked her the day before: prior Overwatch members, how Overwatch would reform, questions on her medical research and the nanites within her. Every time Angela refused to answer, he would nod at one of the other two men in the room.<br/>
<br/>
One would land a punishing blow somewhere on her body – sometimes with a fist, occasionally open-handed, but all calculated to inflict the most pain. The other would strike with a whip across her back. While it was impossible to see her back from here, Gabriel knew that they hadn’t started breaking skin until a few questions ago. Now, dots of red were speckling the ground at her feet. Still, the only sounds Angela made were soft grunts of pain and heavy breaths.<br/>
<br/>
Every strike left her off balance; the chains forced her to remain in one place, but there was no way to brace against any blow. Without the slack necessary to stagger and redistribute her weight, she would lose balance and hang painfully against her wrists and shoulders before forcing her shaking legs beneath her once more. Most of her face was hidden, but he could see how her jaw locked and her throat bobbed as she swallowed back screams.<br/>
<br/>
After Gabriel had considered it yesterday, he wasn’t surprised at her silence. Angela had been all too ready to bleed – to <em>die</em> – for those she protected when she worked with Overwatch. It was such a fundamental part of the woman; how could he have expected it to change, even after all these years?<br/>
<br/>
“Didn’t know the <em>chica</em> had it in her,” Sombra commented after a moment. She rose and crossed her arms, weight shifting so that she leaned to one side as she glanced sidelong at him. She waited for a few seconds as if expecting him to add to the conversation. When he didn’t, Gabriel could practically feel her eyes roll. “Didn’t know <em>you</em> had it in you, either.” The Reaper turned towards her then, but she was still looking at the bloody blonde who was fighting to remain quiet.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He demanded after it was clear that she wasn’t going to elaborate – that she was going to make him <em>work</em> for it. Sombra glanced over towards him, only the vaguest hint of her typical mischief shining in her currently blue eyes. She changed eye color as often as she changed her clothes, but he suspected their actual color was brown.<br/>
<br/>
“Didn’t think you’d be the one to bring her in, that’s all.” She turned her back to the glass and lifted herself to sit atop the desk, feet dangling as she regarded him. It was unsurprising that she would be unfazed by the scene behind her; he imagined she had dug up far worse throughout her life in her search for the perfect blackmail material.<br/>
<br/>
No one in Talon was innocent.<br/>
<br/>
“You have a history with her.” Sombra shrugged, a lazy motion as if it didn’t matter – but Sombra never did anything without a purpose. It hadn’t been a secret that he had been a part of Overwatch, but they had left out his exact role. Only a handful of people in Talon knew who truly lay beneath his mask – and what the woman in chains had once meant to him.<br/>
<br/>
The council, of course: they would never allow him to sit at their table without knowing who he was. Sombra, because she knew <em>everything</em> about <em>everyone</em> – and if she didn’t know it, it wasn’t worth knowing. Widowmaker possibly knew who he was as well, but he wasn’t sure how much the brainwashing had erased. They had known each other – had been friends, even – before she had become Talon’s mindless assassin and he had become the Reaper.<br/>
<br/>
A whimper drew the attention of both. Sombra shifted to glance back over one shoulder. It was a quiet, strained sound that had escaped from Angela’s throat. Gabriel wondered what expression had crossed her face, but it was shielded from his sight by her loose hair and bowed head. Her interrogator, much closer and with a better angle, probably could see whatever emotion had crossed her face – if she had allowed any to show at all.<br/>
<br/>
Another question. Another stroke across the back. No sound.<br/>
<br/>
He knew her, so he <em>knew</em> she hated that small break in her armor, that she had shown them <em>any</em> weakness at all. The Reaper could practically hear her teeth grind in protest. Just as they were determined to rip <em>anything</em> from her throat, she was determined to remain silent. A slap, directly across the welts and gashes in her back, elicited another strangled sound of pain.<br/>
<br/>
Finally, <em>finally</em>, she was beginning to break. His mouth twisted into a malicious grin. It was a minor victory in the ongoing war being waged in that room – he knew she was too stubborn to be defeated so soon, but they had dragged sound from the mute doctor. Soon enough, it would be words – begs, pleas. Then, finally, she would break entirely to give them what they wanted.<br/>
<br/>
“It will only get worse,” Sombra remarked casually, as if commenting on the weather. She had turned away from the glass once more, eying her nails critically. She didn’t react to the slaps of leather-on-flesh or the demanded questions that were sometimes answered with a whimper but were usually followed by silence.<br/>
<br/>
“This is the least of what she deserves.” The Reaper growled, harsh even to his ears. But there was truth – his truth, if nothing else – in the words. He had lived in torment, forced to feed on the life force of other humans or live in excruciating pain, because of <em>her</em>. She deserved everything they would give her and more.<br/>
<br/>
“Huh.” Sombra slid off the desk and turned towards the door. “And here I thought you were just pretending to be a cold bastard.” There was a hint of disapproval in her voice, but Gabriel wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was disapproving of. His words? Angela’s captivity? He watched her leave without a backward glance, the door shutting silently behind her, before turning his attention back to the doctor so that he could revel in Angela’s pain. </p>
<hr/><p>
 She hurt.<br/>
<br/>
Pain was an old bedfellow, but that didn’t make its presence any less unwelcome. Every breath hurt; her back was a mess of pain and blood that shifted every time she inhaled. Her wrists felt raw – probably <em>were</em> raw – from her trying to brace against the swaying and staggering during her latest interrogation.<br/>
<br/>
And it was only going to get worse.<br/>
<br/>
Her nanites were working diligently, but she had no way to direct them. Whatever was determined to be the worst, the most life-threatening, would be what they targeted – which was precisely how she had programmed them. Angela simply had to hold on while they relieved her pain and extended her miserable existence in this chamber.<br/>
<br/>
She hated that one of her greatest creations was being used against her in such a macabre way, even as she desperately longed for the relief it would bring. Angela was strong – but hers was not a physical strength. She could cow people with a look, take command of a room just with her <em>presence</em>. It was that strength that had allowed her, at the tender age of twenty-two, to take and hold the position of Medical Director for Overwatch.<br/>
<br/>
Her strength wasn’t meant for blood and chains.<br/>
<br/>
The doctor did not look up when the door opened again. There was no point – the lights made it impossible to see. Instead, she left her head bowed and eyes closed. Only one person this time. Their footsteps were heavier than the men who had come before. Mentally she tracked them as they circled her slowly, as they paused to take in her bloody back, before coming to a stop in front of her. If she weren’t shackled, Angela was certain she could reach out and touch them.<br/>
<br/>
“And here stands the famous Dr. Ziegler.” The Reaper somehow made her name sound like an insult. Her eyes flew open as if she could see him – as if seeing him would somehow make her less helpless than she was right now. Angela forced them closed again, forced herself to appear unperturbed by her current situation, mentally berating herself for showing any reaction.<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing to say?” He growled. “No pleas for <em>Mercy</em>?” Again, her name twisted into something bitter and hateful. Her entire body was tense, screaming as the half-healed lashes broke open and blood rolled sluggishly down her back, as she waited for whatever new injury was coming. She maintained her stony silence and listened as he paced before her.<br/>
<br/>
“You brought this upon yourself, you know.” He growled from somewhere to her left. His statement had so many layers of truth, more than the man knew. From the day her parents had died, she’d walked a path that would inevitably lead her to this room – or another very like it. It was only a surprise that she had not been taken sooner; her medical genius under the thumb of Talon – or another terrorist organization – could turn the tides heavily in their favor. Her knowledge of Overwatch – the protocols, the backdoors, the agents, <em>everything </em>– would only be a bonus.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re too stubborn for your own good – you always have been.” The words were rushed as if he needed to get them out now before it was too late. Angela’s mind whirled as she tried to make sense of his angry words. How could this monster know what she had ‘always been’?<br/>
<br/>
“You never knew when to quit, <em>never</em>.” Now he was snarling as his footsteps stormed closer once more. Only the chains kept her in place as she instinctively tried to back away from the obvious threat.<br/>
<br/>
There weren’t many people that she had been close to during her time with Overwatch. Not well enough that they could know what she ‘never’ would do, at least. The words revealed more than she thought he wanted; she <em>knew</em> the man under the mask, even if she didn’t recognize him.<br/>
<br/>
“If you did, we wouldn’t be here right now.” One clawed hand was suddenly around her throat, yanking her head up from its bowed position as her eyes blindly flew open once more. It was firm enough to terrify her, but it didn’t hamper her in any other way.<br/>
<br/>
Angela was sure he wouldn’t kill her – she hadn’t uttered a single word since he had taken her from her apartment in Cairo. Why go through all this trouble if he was just going to rip her throat out now? That didn’t lessen her terror in the slightest, no matter how logical the conclusion was.<br/>
<br/>
“Dr. Ziegler, Mercy, an angel, a <em>God</em>.” He squeezed slightly, voice mocking, before releasing the pressure. “I thought you doctors weren’t supposed to play God – but that didn’t stop you, did it?” Angela had no idea what he was talking about; she <em>didn’t</em> play God. Like every other doctor, she used every tool available to preserve the broken lives that came before her. She had just created better tools during her time with Overwatch.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Overwatch</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“I <em>told</em> you to let go, to let me die – and you <em>didn’t</em>.” Now his mask was in her face, impossible to miss even with the lights, his grip a vice that didn’t allow her to lean away. “Instead, you turned me into <em>this</em>.” Angela went cold, her mind stuttering to a brief stop as she took in his declaration. If he was to be believed, <em>she</em> had created the murderous monster that had stalked the world since the fall of Overwatch.<br/>
<br/>
<em>The Reaper had appeared only a few months after the fall</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“You didn’t listen because <em>you</em> thought you knew best.” His breathing was ragged, as if he had run a marathon. She could feel it, hot and heavy on her face, as he glared down at her. Who had she healed, despite their – apparent – request for death?<br/>
<br/>
<em>Genji had hated her for what she had done</em>.<br/>
<br/>
That thought whisked away as quickly as it had come: this wasn’t Genji. He had wanted to survive, but he hadn’t realized what it would cost him. Genji had been angry, bitter at his loss, and it had been a nearly insurmountable rift between the two of them. They had worked together when needed, but Genji had made his opinions of her – and what she had done to him – very clear. Neither man nor machine, he believed she had taken away his humanity; she had thought he would never forgive her. It was only recently that he had come to terms with himself with the Shambali monks in Nepal.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Someone who wanted to die – who she had decided to save anyway.</em><br/>
<br/>
“You <em>always</em> thought you knew best.” He scoffed, his claws digging into the delicate flesh of her throat, just enough to draw blood that slid in thin rivers towards her collarbone. She tried not to flinch – what was one more injury after what she had already endured? – but her face must have given something away. He chuckled, a low humorless sound that made her hair stand up.<br/>
<br/>
<em>There was no one – </em>no one<em> – that she had saved that had wanted to die</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, you should have let me go, Angela, <em>mi corazón</em>.” He had leaned in closer, the words whispered into her ear for only her to hear. Her heart seized, and now she was sucking in desperate breaths. No one living knew of that endearment. “Now, we both pay the price for your pride.” He had died – he had <em>died</em> – there was no way that it was --<br/>
<br/>
“Ga-Gabriel?” Her voice was rough with disuse, tentative and weak. It was the first word she had spoken in what had felt like an eternity, forced past his hand at her throat and through numb lips. It couldn’t be him. She had buried him – <em>mourned</em> him, despite his betrayal. He was <em>dead</em>.<br/>
<br/>
His head yanked back from her, quick as a striking snake.<br/>
<br/>
“That isn’t my name.” His grip tightened, claws digging further into her skin as the pads of his fingertips cut off all air. “I haven’t been Gabriel for a very long time.” Her hands twisted futilely in their bonds, trying desperately to reach down and tear his hand away. Just before she lost consciousness, he relaxed his grip enough for her to gulp down air in small, wheezing gasps.<br/>
<br/>
“Everything I am, everything I’ve done – that’s on <em>you</em>, because <em>you</em> didn’t listen to <em>me</em>.” The whisper seemed to echo in the room, the accusation striking deep in her heart. Then the air was gone again, but this time he didn’t let go until she was unconscious. </p>
<hr/><p>

 It was supposed to make him feel better.<br/>
<br/>
He hadn’t said everything he wanted to – Gabriel could still feel cruel words festering in his heart and soul – but he had said enough. Gabriel would have said more, would have yelled and screamed until his throat was hoarse, but then the Reaper had dug those claws into her throat. The Reaper wanted to ruin her, hurt her as he had hurt for all those years – but Gabriel couldn’t do it. He’d had to force himself out of the room before the Reaper did something Gabriel would regret.<br/>
<br/>
It should have been a relief to finally tell her <em>exactly</em> what she had done, but all that was left was a hollow emptiness.<br/>
<br/>
It had started <em>perfectly</em>. Angela was helpless in chains, at his mercy instead of the other way around. Her terror had been such a sweet nectar, a prize worth waiting all those years for. Then, his simmering rage had bubbled over until his claws were red with her blood, until the brutal truth came out.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Then</em> it all turned sour.<br/>
<br/>
That <em>look</em> on her face. That fucking <em>look</em>. The Reaper wanted to claw it off, rip her eyes out so she couldn’t <em>look</em> at him like that again. All it took was two little words, and she was completely undone. Her walls had come down in a way only he could manage and allowed him to see what lay beneath.<br/>
<br/>
He had watched the emotions that had flown through her with breakneck speed. Terror of being in the Reaper’s grasp had turned into shock at his name for her, his <em>heart</em>. A brief flash of love for the man she remembered, the man he no longer was, the man she had buried despite the lack of body. Hope, flickering and fleeting, that he might help her – before she remembered that it was he who had brought her here. Sorrow for her loss and the monster he had become had followed closely afterward.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel had waited for the anger that would come next. He had shattered her world in so many ways and then left her to try to pick up the pieces that cut and sliced as she grasped at them. Gabriel had forced her to bury him, to mourn him, despite his betrayal. Then, he had turned into the monster that stalked the night and murdered the agents she had sworn to protect. He had shackled her and let her be tortured without lifting a finger to stop it.<br/>
<br/>
It should disgust her at what he had become and all he had done.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, the sorrow had remained, and she had called his name. She shouldn’t be <em>sad</em>. She should be horrified, enraged. He <em>wanted</em> her anger. <em>Needed</em> it. But Angela just looked up at him with those blue eyes that pierced through the Reaper and straight into Gabriel. He’d had to pull away, to escape those eyes that saw far too much.<br/>
<br/>
But there was no escaping them. Even here, in the hallway with a door between them and Angela left unconscious, he could feel them.<br/>
<br/>
It should have been sweet, this victory – it <em>had</em> been sweet – but all he could taste as he stalked through the hallways was ash. He gathered his guns and various supplies from the armory before leaving the Oasis base altogether.<br/>
<br/>
The Reaper told himself it was to hunt, to take the edge off the pain that was always hovering over him. Gabriel knew it was to bloody their hands in a way they couldn’t – wouldn’t – with the caged angel of his past. </p>
<hr/><p>
 Angela woke all at once, her body screaming in pain. Every part of her hurt, even with the help of her nanites. She shifted, taking the weight off her shoulders, and felt another of the lashes on her back reopen. Angela hurriedly turned a whimper of pain into a hiss of air through clenched teeth; there was no telling who was watching, and she wanted to give as little of a reaction as possible. It was only after she trusted herself to keep her face blank and impassive that she allowed herself to consider the Reaper.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel.<br/>
<br/>
And it <em>was</em> Gabriel. The two of them were the <em>only</em> people who knew of that endearment, whispered in quiet moments in the privacy of her – <em>their</em> – bedroom. They had never spoken it where anyone else could overhear and possibly report it back to their enemies. Not even in front of their friends – their <em>family</em> – did they use those endearments.<br/>
<br/>
No, that one had been for her ears alone.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Mi corazón</em>. <em>Mein herz. </em>It was the closest thing to wedding vows that they would ever take, but that had suited them just fine. The two of them were prominent members of their organizations – her as Mercy and the Medical Director of Overwatch, him as the Commander of Blackwatch. It wasn’t safe for people like them, with such responsibility and power, to foster relationships. People in their positions couldn’t afford such luxuries – such <em>weaknesses</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Amélie and Gérard had been a horrible reminder of that lesson.<br/>
<br/>
Amélie had come from a family that had once been influential but had been in decline long before she was born. Between the slight influence of her name and her fame as a talented ballerina, she had experienced <em>some</em> power. Amélie had had a taste of what she needed to be to stand at Gérard’s side.<br/>
<br/>
Gérard was a power<em> far</em> more influential and dangerous than what Amélie had ever held. Gérard had been their expert on Talon. He had commanded agents, ordered life and death, and was one of the largest targets in the entire organization due to his vast knowledge. In Overwatch, only the Strike Commander and his Captain – Jack and Ana – were more valuable.<br/>
<br/>
Amélie hadn’t been ready for that burden, the weight that marrying Gérard carried.<br/>
<br/>
The ballerina had thought she understood the risks, the danger. It was understandable, really. No one could understand, not without actually experiencing it. Angela had acclimatized with relative ease – as a doctor, she had always carried around the burdens of life and death. Amélie had never needed to worry about her words, worry about her next <em>breath</em>, not as she had once she was Gérard’s wife.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, they had tried to help her. Angela had befriended her in a way she had never attempted before. All her friends had been fostered through her work, through medicine or missions. Amélie wasn’t even a part of Overwatch – but Gérard was. They needed Gérard, and so Angela tried her best to help him and his new, beautiful wife.<br/>
<br/>
It had been an awkward, stumbling start, but somehow they had become friends. Angela had helped Amélie learn to shoulder the constant threat and fear, something Angela had long since come to terms with. Angela had been there when Amélie couldn’t sleep, terrified that Gérard was going to die while out on a mission. She had soothed the ballerina when Gérard was recovering from the bomb that had nearly killed him, even though Angela herself had almost lost Gabriel in that same explosion.<br/>
<br/>
Angela had become for Amélie what Gabriel was for her. Angela always made time to search out the woman, to give her counsel or just a shoulder to cry on. They talked about many things – from Angela’s research to Amélie’s hopes for the future. Eventually, Amélie took up ballet again and started living the life she had put on hold while she got her bearings.<br/>
<br/>
They had let their guard down after her being safe for so long – and that had been their undoing.<br/>
<br/>
Talon had kidnapped Amélie, just as they had abducted Angela now. Unlike Angela, they had returned the ballerina – not that Overwatch had realized she was being returned at the time. Amélie was recovered, almost no worse for her two weeks in Talon’s clutches, and life went back to normal.<br/>
<br/>
That is, until Amélie assassinated Gérard.<br/>
<br/>
It had been a horrible discovery. Somehow, the sweet woman had been brainwashed into murdering the husband she had once loved. No one saw it coming – not even Angela, who had looked her over and had spoken to her every day. It was all normal – until it wasn’t.<br/>
<br/>
Amélie had returned to Talon before they could stop her and was now one of their best assassins: the formidable Widowmaker.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel and Angela hadn’t wanted to follow in their footsteps, to risk one of them being used against the other. They kept their relationship private – only their closest friends and a few UN members knew about them – to protect themselves and each other. Neither had been willing to endanger the other for something so trivial as a wedding or a ring.<br/>
<br/>
They didn’t need material proof of the love between them.<br/>
<br/>
That had been a source of grief after the fall. Nothing material meant there was nothing to hold on to after he was gone and buried, besides her memories and what few photographs she could salvage from the wreckage of her personal effects. Gabriel had thoroughly shattered her life, her <em>world</em>, when he had destroyed the Zürich base that had been her home.<br/>
<br/>
She had found him that day, broken and dying in the rubble, when she had gone searching for Jack - her Commander, her friend, her <em>brother</em>. Angela hadn’t known of Gabriel’s betrayal then, hadn’t known that <em>he</em> had caused the wanton destruction that surrounded them – but knowing wouldn’t have changed the outcome. She would have still tried to save him because that was who she was and what she did.<br/>
<br/>
Angela had been forced to abandon him before stabilizing him due to the building crashing down around them. She had barely escaped with her life. After seeing his injuries, she didn’t believe for a <em>single</em> moment that he had survived the collapse; even when his body hadn’t been recovered, she didn’t think he survived. Angela was <em>certain</em> he had died, believed it enough to mourn and bury him.<br/>
<br/>
Angela had given him a grave when the UN had refused: even traitors deserved a place to rest and be remembered. Graves were for the living. She had been the one to give aid to what was left of his family after they had denied his death benefits; his family had done nothing wrong, after all. They had simply had the misfortune of being related to him. She had mourned him most, over all the others who died, despite his betrayal – <em>especially</em> because of the betrayal.<br/>
<br/>
Because she had loved him, fiercely and desperately.<br/>
<br/>
It hadn’t been easy, loving Gabriel. Sometimes it was hard and painful, like hugging a porcupine, when he was at his most difficult. Sometimes it had been nearly impossible, faced with his position as the Blackwatch Commander and all that entailed. But it had been worth it, <em>all</em> of it, including the end.<br/>
<br/>
He had been her first real friend, the first person who saw her for Angela and not just Dr. Ziegler – or, later, Mercy. Gabriel was her confidant, the one she turned to when the weight of the world was too much to bear, who soothed her after she woke up screaming and stayed up the rest of the night so she wouldn’t be alone.<br/>
<br/>
A piece of her had died with him in the rubble of the Zürich base.<br/>
<br/>
She wrestled with herself for a moment, forcing down tears and choking back a sob. Gabriel’s death had been a wound to her heart that she had thought was healed. The revelation of the Reaper’s real name had ripped through the scar tissue and split her open more viciously than her back had been. Angela had known she would face pain here, trapped in a torture chamber deep inside the black heart of Talon, but she hadn’t expected it to be <em>this</em> kind of pain.<br/>
<br/>
He had <em>died</em>. Angela had buried him, just like she had buried the other members of their family by choice – Ana, the mother; Jack, the brother. Just like Gabriel, their bodies hadn’t been recovered either.<br/>
<br/>
She had taken flowers to his grave twice a year: once for his birthday in May and again for his death day in August – the anniversary of the day she had lost <em>everything</em> – the only personal time she ever took for herself. The only time she allowed herself to remember, to be anything but numb.<br/>
<br/>
Despite all that, he was <em>alive</em>.<br/>
<br/>
He was alive, and now she was his hated enemy instead of friend and lover. He was the Reaper, a dark and deadly serial killer that had rarely left survivors. He was with Talon, an organization he had once dedicated his life to stopping. He had brought her here, condemned her to be tortured and broken before being tossed away.<br/>
<br/>
He had <em>gloated</em> over her capture.<br/>
<br/>
It was that fact, more than anything else, that made her believe the Reaper. He wasn’t Gabriel – not her Gabriel, at least. <em>Her</em> Gabriel would never have put her in danger; he had been nearly smothering in his protection. <em>That</em> Gabriel would have yanked her down out of these chains and whisked her away or died trying. No, her Gabriel was dead, and a monster had taken his place.<br/>
<br/>
Angela couldn’t stop a few stray tears from streaking down her cheeks as she mourned his loss all over again. </p>
<hr/><p>
 The only person from Overwatch Fareeha had spoken to since her mothers’ death years ago had been Dr. Ziegler – Angela. The doctor kept in touch throughout the years – even after the collapse – checking in periodically and remembering to call on holidays and her birthday.<br/>
<br/>
So, when she awoke to a voicemail – left at 1:37 AM – from Jesse, she had been surprised. Fareeha remembered the man; between his drawling accent and the cowboy outfit, he was very unforgettable. It also helped that her mother had taken a picture of the two of them, helpfully labeled ‘Jesse and Fareeha, 2062’.<br/>
<br/>
He wanted her to check on Angela. If it had been anyone else, Fareeha might have said no. Even if she had known Jesse nearly a decade ago – or more, actually, but she wasn’t entirely sure – that didn’t mean she owed him anything now.<br/>
<br/>
But Angela was an entirely different matter.<br/>
<br/>
The doctor was her friend after so many years. Clearly, she was Jesse’s too – why else would he reach out after all this time? His urgency had driven her to request a few personal days off – something she rarely did - and then she had traveled out to the address in Cairo he had provided her.<br/>
<br/>
“Angela?” She had called, knocking at the door. There was no answer, but Fareeha wasn’t sure that was unusual. She knew that her doctor friend could keep long hours, so perhaps she was already out – or still asleep. Fareeha stood at the door for several minutes, considering what her next steps should be.<br/>
<br/>
The woman pulled out her communicator and called Angela, as she had done – twice – on the way here. Faintly, Fareeha could hear the sound of Angela’s communicator inside the apartment. Was that normal? Did she usually leave it behind?<br/>
<br/>
“Angela?” Fareeha had called again, pocketing the communicator. This time, she jiggled the knob – and was surprised to find the door unlocked. <em>That</em> was unusual, Fareeha knew. Angela wouldn’t leave her home unlocked, not with the equipment she hauled around. Cautiously, the Egyptian pushed the door open and sidled in, regretting that she hadn’t brought a weapon with her.<br/>
<br/>
Fortunately, there was no need for a weapon.<br/>
<br/>
Unfortunately, the apartment was empty of the doctor.<br/>
<br/>
Fareeha found a set of keys on the ground, which only proved her belief of foul play. She scooped them up and tested them on the door; they were an exact match, which meant that Angela <em>probably</em> hadn’t left the apartment willingly. She poked around, but nothing else jumped out at her as out of order– just the keys and the unlocked door.<br/>
<br/>
She left everything as it was and locked up the apartment. There was a medical camp nearby; she would investigate there next. Hopefully, they had better news than the apartment did. </p><p>--- </p><p>
 Fareeha waited until 5:00 PM to call Jesse back. It had felt like an eternity, but their radically different time zones necessitated the wait.<br/>
<br/>
“Fareeha? What’d ya find?” He sounded alert; perhaps she could have called him earlier. It didn’t matter. Quickly, she relayed what she had found: the open door, the keys on the ground, and her absence at the medical camp for the past three days.<br/>
<br/>
“She’s not here, Jesse.” Fareeha had been worried before, but now she was terrified. There was no sign of the doctor <em>anywhere</em>, though there was ample enough proof that she <em>had</em> been here. Her absence meant nothing good.<br/>
<br/>
“Did it look like there was a struggle, back at her place?” The cowboy had asked after a long, considering moment.<br/>
<br/>
“Besides the keys on the ground? No. It all looks… normal.” Fareeha glanced around the apartment she had been searching while she had watched the clock. “It’s kind of empty – but that’s normal, right?” Jesse made an affirmative noise; the past apartment Fareeha had visited had felt a lot like this one, too.<br/>
<br/>
“There’s no food out. The bed looked slept in.” Fareeha stalked through the small apartment, glancing around for anything she could relay to the cowboy. “Her equipment cases – you know, the ones that carry the suit and staff?”<br/>
<br/>
Fareeha had once convinced Angela to pull it all out so she could look at it. Of course, she had seen pictures, but that was nothing compared to having it right in front of her. The pictures didn’t capture the faint scratches and dents in the armor, proving how dangerous the doctor’s life had been before the fall.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, I know ‘em. They still there?” There was some hope in his voice; if they left the equipment behind, her captors probably weren’t <em>exceedingly</em> dangerous. But-<br/>
<br/>
“No. They took those, too.” Fareeha sat gingerly on the couch, bracing her head against her free hand. “What do we do now?” She was a fighter, the one you called when you wanted things killed – she had no idea where to begin searching for a missing person.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll put some feelers out, call in some favors.” The cowboy seemed distracted, probably planning the next steps. She remembered a little about him: he was a cowboy, he was a great shot, and he had been part of Blackwatch – the covert intelligence division of Overwatch.<br/>
<br/>
Not that she had known at the time. She hadn’t known what the skull insignia had meant until long after Blackwatch had been revealed to the public, and everything came crashing down.<br/>
<br/>
“Call me if there is anything I can do.” Fareeha insisted. Helix would let her go if he called – and if they didn’t, then they weren’t worth staying with. Angela Ziegler was too crucial to the world to let a job stand in the way.<br/>
<br/>
“‘course I will.” He paused, considering briefly, before continuing. “Actually, can ya get her pictures and stuff, keep ‘em safe ‘til one a’us can come an’ get them?” It wasn’t what she was expecting to be asked to do, but if Jesse thought it was important enough to be mentioned, she could do it.<br/>
<br/>
“I can do that. Let me know if you need anything else.” They said their goodbyes and disconnected. Fareeha swept her eyes around the apartment, suddenly grateful the doctor traveled light. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Your touch used to be so kind<br/>
Your touch used to give me life<br/>
I've waited all this time<br/>
I've wasted so much time </em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Falling Inside the Black [Skillet] </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Act III: Crushing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>You can't fix your broken promise<br/>
Our ties have come undone<br/>
I will not be used to be battered and abused<br/>
It's the reason why I choose to cut my losses </em>
</p><p>
  <em>- White Rabbit [Egypt Central] </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Whenever they removed the shackles, Angela would collapse into a heap on the ground, legs too shaky and weak to suddenly accept the full burden of her weight. Depending on how healed they were, her wounds might burst open once more and spatter crimson drops along the concrete. Still, she would grit her teeth and force herself to sit up, to be <em>strong</em> in a way that she wasn’t.</p><p>Then they would put food and water before her. If she ignored them, they would force it upon her. She had tried twice, in a vain attempt to take back <em>some</em> control of her life, but now she always quickly ate and drank what was before her. It was always too little, always left her hungry and wanting, but it was better than nothing.</p><p>Once she finished, they would leave her to her own devices for a time; Angela would take this time to curl up in a corner of the room to try to rest. Sometimes, it was too much effort to stand, so she would crawl instead of walk. The small comfort of two sides being protected by the walls was worth the humiliation of crawling across the too-bright room.</p><p>There, she would press as close to the two walls as her wounds allowed, clutching the torn shirt around her ragged body. Angela would bury her face into her knees, hugged as close as she could manage to her bruised chest, to try to block out the blinding lights so she could attempt to sleep.</p><p>What little rest she was able to get was always disturbed by nightmares.</p><p>Angela was used to nightmares – she had devoted her entire life to ridding herself of them, after all. She would fail a patient, and they would haunt her, so she would become better and create better tools to ensure that she wouldn’t fail another person in the same way. Before her capture, Angela rarely slept without nightmares. Occasionally she had managed to exhaust herself so completely that not even the horrific images could keep her away.</p><p>Those nightmares were daydreams compared to the ones she now experienced. Even in her dreams, her interrogators hurt her, demanded from her. They ripped into her in a way they had not in her reality, in a way they <em>would</em> if she continued along this path of silence. Piece by piece, she would be taken apart until she woke, screaming with tears on her cheeks.</p><p>Sometimes she would see Gabriel as he was before the fall, and then he twisted into the Reaper to rip into her, too, until there was nothing left. Those nightmares were the worst, leaving her trembling and weeping as she mourned his loss all over again.</p><p>The time on the ground was always short-lived and never enough. Eventually, her captors would barge into the room, toss her shirt aside, and string her up in the chains once more. Sometimes the questions came immediately. Other times, they’d leave her hanging for what felt like an eternity before eventually coming to question her with their tools and her blood.</p><p>Angela forced herself to accept the abuse and humiliation. She needed to suffer as silently as possible, because once she allowed herself to make noise – to speak – it would only become harder to maintain that vow. Angela was realistic. She knew that, eventually, she would break her silence and that they would force her to beg. She only hoped that she could hold out, keep the information from them until they broke her beyond all repair.</p><p>Because there were still so, <em>so</em> many ways they could hurt her. So many ways they <em>would</em> hurt her, when her silence continued.</p><p>---</p><p>Time had lost all meaning, precisely as they had intended it to. Angela wasn’t sure if she was released from her bonds on a regular basis or if they kept it purposefully irregular to throw her off. She certainly knew the torture – no longer did she hide behind such gentle words as ‘interrogation’ – sessions came irregularly. On one occasion, the blood had barely dried before they had come in for another round.</p><p>Angela had been released from her chains four times but had been tortured at least nine times – possibly more or less, because they blurred together after a while. Between the two intermittent events that now made up the sum of her life, the perpetual blindness, and exhaustion, she was completely unaware of how long she had been here. On the worst side of the spectrum, Angela thought she had been here for ten days. On the best, it could be as little as three – but she highly doubted that.</p><p>However long it was, her friends had to have noticed she was missing by now, right? If nothing else, the medical camp in Cairo would have noted her absence. Eventually, they would have sent someone to check on her and discovered she was missing. Angela couldn’t help the desperate hope that someone – <em>anyone</em> – would find her, even as she <em>knew</em> that it would never happen. That hope had remained, flickering dimly in her heart as she hung from her chains.</p><p>But she doubted the Reaper – Gabriel – would have been so careless as to leave behind a clue pointing towards Talon as her kidnappers. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past him to have laid false trails – he <em>had</em> been the Commander of Blackwatch for years, after all.</p><p>Angela wasn’t sure if it was a relief that she hadn’t seen the man since their last, earthshaking encounter. She knew that, were he the one barking questions and splitting her flesh, she would break, and nothing would be able to put her back together. Whether he was <em>her</em> Gabriel or the Reaper didn’t matter, not for this. Just the thought was enough to make her nauseous, and she had to convulsively swallow to keep from vomiting up what little sustenance they had allowed her.</p><p>He could tear her apart with a few well-placed words – and yet, he had been curiously absent. Angela wondered if, when they broke her spirit, they would break her mind, too. Certainly Gabriel – the Reaper – was capable of both, simultaneously crushing her heart while he was at it. They could save so much time by sending him into this room with her, but they had not.</p><p>This, too, fed the weak spark of hope that sheltered inside her.</p><p>She teetered between being glad for his absence and hoping that she might see him again. Angela knew that, should he appear again, it would only herald her end – in one way or another. All it had taken was two words to break her the last time; she wasn’t so sure, even strengthened with knowledge, that she wouldn’t shatter just upon seeing him. And yet, she still wished she could see him.</p><p>How many times had she begged for one last time?</p><p>Angela knew something of Gabriel was still within him. He had memories from before the fall, from before she had – apparently – turned him into the Reaper. Whether he would admit it or not, there was a part of him that still held <em>her</em> Gabriel; it was that part, no matter how infinitesimally small, that she wanted to see one more time.</p><p>The door opened again, and she barely suppressed the shudder of fear. Angela blanked her face and shored up her defenses. Each time, it was just a little bit harder.</p><p>---</p><p>She knew time was not on her side. The longer she stayed imprisoned, the more likely she was to break – or die. Angela knew she couldn’t rely on a rescue, so she had to try to take matters into her own hands.</p><p>It didn’t matter that she had <em>no </em>idea where she was or where an exit was. It didn’t matter that the beatings and the lack of nourishment had weakened her. It didn’t matter that, should she fail, it would become so much worse for her. It didn’t matter that her chance of success was probably a negative number.</p><p>She had to try. For the ones she protected, for her pride, she could do no less.</p><p>It had been difficult to piece together some semblance of a plan. It was hard to keep her thoughts focused, even after such a short time in their care. They were constantly hurting her, affecting her, whether they were in the room or not.</p><p>The blinding lights gave her horrific headaches and made it nearly impossible to get any rest – she might be known for rarely sleeping, but she <em>still</em> needed it. They only gave her enough food and water to stay alive, and her body was already wasting away. Added to that was the stress of hanging from those despicable chains for hours on end and the drain from the nanites piecing her back together after each visit.</p><p>And then there was the fear of failure, despite her resolve. She <em>knew</em> that it would get worse, whether or not she tried to escape. That didn’t make the decision any easier – but she had never been one to take the easy path if it was the wrong one. In this act – perhaps, <em>hopefully</em>, her final one – she could be no less.</p><p>Angela would become Mercy one last time. She would charge into the battlefield, regardless of her safety and health, to protect those under her care. They may no longer be Overwatch, but she had sworn an oath forged in the fire of the ruins of the Zürich base and tempered with the blood of the fallen. No matter where they went, they were <em>hers</em> – until her death, or theirs.</p><p>So she had planned, as quickly as she was able.</p><p>The hardest part was the waiting. They had to let their guard down around her – as if that were a difficult feat to accomplish. Why would they think her a flight risk? She was a doctor, a pacifist, the <em>healer</em>; the thought of her being any kind of threat to <em>anyone</em> was laughable at best.</p><p>Her captors already didn’t take her seriously; whenever Angela was chained, they left the door tauntingly unlocked. The only time she had ever heard it lock was when they left her sprawled on the floor. That would be the time to strike – when they dropped her from the chains, but before they left. Already they were only sending one guard in – it didn’t take two people to release her from the chains, after all.</p><p>So, when the guard unceremoniously dropped her to the ground for the fifth time, she was – more or less – ready.</p><p>Angela scooted away – just a little, in an effort to conserve what little energy she had – from the offerings that they laid before her, face turned up and away, watching the guard from the corner of her eye. It took him a moment to realize that she hadn’t fallen upon her food like she had the last two times – after the lesson of the first two meals, she hadn’t given them any excuse to hurt her more.</p><p>The man made an annoyed sound; clearly, he had places to be, and she was hampering those plans. Angela watched as he stalked closer, let him snatch her hair into a tight grip that brought him within her meager reach. Her hands flew up to grab his, as he expected – it was a natural response that they had yet to beat out of her.</p><p>What he hadn’t expected was for those hands to release and reach further. Angela had considered trying to strike, to hit, but realized she would never be able to put enough momentum or strength behind the action to be useful. Instead, her hands reached for his pelvic area, grateful that her guard was a man – was <em>always</em> a man.</p><p>Before he could react to her surprising action, Angela had his genitals in her grip. Before he could yank her away, she twisted and pulled as savagely as she was able.</p><p>He made a strangled noise and dropped like a rock to his knees. That brought his head – more or less – within her reach as well, as she had intended. Her head smashed into the bridge of his nose, fully incapacitating the man and temporarily stunning her as her headache flared to life once more. Angela was <em>almost</em> sure she had hit him correctly, that she <em>hadn’t</em> concussed herself, but she was in no place to diagnose herself.</p><p>As quickly as she was able, Angela patted at his hips and pockets for whatever access key or card he had; while she had <em>no</em> idea where she was, she knew it had to be at least <em>somewhat</em> secure. She also knew it was only a matter of minutes before they raised the alarm, either from whoever was behind the cameras or the other guards realizing something was amiss. Before that point, she had to find a way out – whatever that way might be.</p><p>Angela left her shirt behind; trying to clutch it to her body would only hamper her movements and take up precious time and energy. Instead, she staggered out of her cell, half-naked and barefoot with a black keycard in one hand. The other hand pressed against the wall, helping her stay upright as her legs trembled.</p><p>Here was another part of her plan that had relied on luck: there weren’t any guards within sight of her door. She went right – as good a direction as any, especially since she couldn’t hear any signs of people. Angela was grateful that the nanites had managed to at least seal the gashes that streaked across her body; it would be utterly pointless if she left a trail of blood behind her.</p><p>As she shuffled along, her eyes searched her surroundings for something, <em>anything</em>, that could help her. There was nothing. Of course, there would be nothing in the halls lined with torture chambers; if a prisoner escaped, as she had, they wouldn’t want them to be able to arm themselves.</p><p>Once, Angela had to crouch low in the shadow of a counter – the only cover she had, but absolutely useless considering how her pale skin stood out. It was only because someone called the guard away, back down the path he’d come, that she had been spared. She had waited for a single, precious minute before somehow climbing back to her feet to press on.</p><p>Angela managed to find a stairwell. There had been an elevator, somewhere along the hall behind her, which had been tempting – but taking <em>that</em> would have been foolish. Better to suffer through the stairs than be trapped inside the metal box, practically gift-wrapped for her captors.</p><p>She had checked the markings on the wall, just inside the stairwell before mounting them: Floor B1. How ironic that her ‘home’ with Talon would match where she had practically lived in the Zürich base. Angela shoved the keycard between her teeth so she could cling to the railing with both hands before painstakingly climbing the single flight to the ground floor.</p><p>This was the part where she was most likely to fail, and the thought made Angela shake even more than she already was. But she had already started; no matter what, she had to see it through. Angela cautiously pushed open the door and found the coast was clear. It was only after she stepped out, carefully ensuring the door closed with as little sound as possible, that a siren pierced the air.</p><p>Angela <em>highly</em> doubted she was lucky enough that something – anything – else had caused that siren to go off. They were actively hunting her now, and here she was frozen in plain sight against one wall. Voices clamored down the hallway towards her, so she shuffled in the opposite direction. There was a door on her right – she pushed through it blindly, hoping to hide until the voices had passed her by.</p><p>The door opened into an armory, very similar to the ones she had geared up in when Overwatch had still existed. Guns, ammo, and any other weapons-related supplies lined the walls and filled shelves. It was precisely the <em>worst</em> hiding place because she was almost certain those voices were heading this way – as if they needed a gun to catch her.</p><p>It was also the worst because someone was already inside the room.</p><p>Angela had barely registered the other person in the room, aside from that they were <em>there</em>, before she was turning towards the nearest gun rack. Whether she would use the gun on the other person or herself was anyone’s guess, but she knew her best chance at escape now relied on her getting one of those weapons.</p><p>Her fingers just brushed the grip of a gun when rough hands grabbed both of her arms, yanking her away from the rack with contemptuous ease. Her captor ignored her frustrated cry and slammed her against one wall painfully, driving all breath out of her and making her head swim with pain.</p><p>“Did you <em>really</em> think you could get away?” Angela went cold, and if it weren’t for the punishing grip on her arms, she would be on the floor. Of course she would have been caught by the <em>one</em> person she had most wanted to avoid – and, paradoxically, had most wanted to see. Everything she had considered saying to him when she saw him again flew out of her head as she peered up at his mask.</p><p>There were so many things she <em>should</em> say. Something proud and defiant that showed she hadn’t been cowed or broken by her time in that horrible room – as if her escape attempt didn’t prove <em>precisely</em> that. Perhaps a demand, not a plea or beg, for her release. A threat, as useless as one would be, possibly. Something that showed she wasn’t afraid, even though she was absolutely petrified.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” She whispered instead. It should be censure and anger, but all she could manage was a heartfelt apology that was years too late to bridge the chasm between them. Limpid eyes tried to see past the mask to the man beneath, even while knowing it was impossible. Angela felt him stiffen, his grip turning painful as the claws on each finger dug savagely into her biceps and made her bleed.</p><p>“I don’t blame you,” the words came tumbling out, unbidden, surprising them both. “I don’t blame you for hating me.” With what little she knew of how Gabriel had come to be the Reaper, she understood. It was similar to what had happened with Genji – it hadn’t been until recent years that he had come to terms with himself and forgiven her. Unlike Genji, she hadn’t been present in the aftermath of her bloody work on Gabriel – and now they all suffered for it.</p><p>Before he could react, say something scathing to slap her back down and grind her heart beneath his heel, the door was tossed open carelessly as the guards she had been fleeing entered. They were chattering, amicable voices stuttering to a stop when they took in the sight before them: a demon and the broken angel within his grasp.</p><p>The Reaper turned, forcing her to move as she dangled from his hands, and practically threw her at them as if he could no longer stand to touch her. A man caught her, hands just as rough and uncaring as the ones that had thrown her.</p><p>“Take her back to her cell.” The Reaper commanded from the space behind her. He said something else, but there was a ringing in her ears that his voice could not break. Nausea rose and she screwed her eyes shut as she forced herself not to be sick all over the guard and herself.</p><p>Gabriel had given her to them <em>again</em>. He had seen what they had done to her, how low she had fallen, and he had carelessly tossed her back to the wolves. As they hauled her limp body away, despair crashed over her. She had <em>failed</em>. Failed to get out, failed to end it all, <em>failed</em>.</p><p>The hope that had been flickering in her heart stuttered – and died.</p>
<hr/><p>It wasn’t until he had ripped into the third person that he realized they were all young, blonde women.</p><p>It was <em>then</em> that the Reaper had become <em>furious</em> with himself. He was the Reaper; people cowered in fear when he appeared, worried that those blood-soaked hands would dig into <em>them</em> next. He was <em>the Reaper,</em> and he had fled the Oasis base like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, running from the chained angel with those damned eyes that saw too much. Instead of watching the doctor get torn into pieces by the hands of others, he had come to hunt her likeness and was left desperately <em>wanting</em>.</p><p>These replacements – for that was what they were, he’d come to realize – were <em>nothing</em> like the real thing. Wrapping his hand around their throats didn’t bring that same sense of <em>power</em> that holding Dr. Angela Ziegler in his grasp had evoked. The eyes he had clawed out weren’t the same expressive, knowing eyes that he was trying to escape. There was no fight or steely determination, merely whimpers and broken pleas for their lives.</p><p>He’d been off-center ever since he had carried her limp form into that cell. She was the bitch that had cursed him to this half-life of misery and called it ‘love.’ She was the angel that he had, in another lifetime, sworn to protect against all harm.</p><p>She was <em>nothing</em>.</p><p>She was <em>everything</em>.</p><p>With a snarl, the Reaper left Baghdad to return to the Oasis base. He would dump the guns and gear that he hadn’t even bothered to use before looking in on the doctor. He’d find out if she had broken during the days he was away, if she had given up anything besides the occasional pained whimper.</p><p>The Reaper had just put his unused guns away when the siren went off. It was the call of an escaped prisoner, alerting everyone to search for their missing prey. Of all the things – of <em>course</em> she would run. Of course she wasn’t broken. Who had he been kidding? Stubborn to the core, of <em>course</em> that damned woman would somehow manage to break free of her chains and get away.</p><p>He briefly considered grabbing his shotguns again but decided against it. The only weapon he needed for her was his claws.</p><p>The door opened – of course, others would think they needed a weapon to capture an angel. Let the fools arm themselves; he would find her and rip the wings from her back, shatter the halo into a million pieces that not even <em>she</em> could piece back together. The Reaper turned, ready to stalk out and hunt her – only to discover that his prey had found him.</p><p>Angela looked so small, so frail, standing half-naked in the doorway with one hand pressed to the wall. She looked thinner than she had been when he’d brought her in, but Gabriel couldn’t be sure. Bruises, ranging from fresh dark-purple black to almost healed yellow-green, coated her skin like a blanket. What little unmarred skin was left was pale – paler than her norm, which was <em>really</em> pale, considering she barely went out into the sun even <em>before</em> capture.</p><p>There were strips of wounded flesh, barely scabbed over, cutting haphazard tracks across her stomach and breasts. When Angela turned, staggering in weakness and terror, he could see the tracks were worse on her back. The healing was more complete there, the nanites having focused on the significant bleeding that would have been present from all those stripes.</p><p>It was a wonder she was on her feet at all, but Angela was nothing if not stubborn.</p><p>Even though there was nearly an entire room between the two of them, the Reaper still reached her before she crossed the few feet that stood between her and the weapon she was desperately seeking. He yanked her back – yes, she had lost weight – and slammed her against the wall. Pain flashed across her face, and she gasped desperately for breath in shallow pants.</p><p>“Did you <em>really</em> think you could get away?” He growled, glaring down at her from behind his mask. She felt fragile, like spun glass that would shatter if held too tightly. That was <em>wrong</em>. This woman, even after the abuse thrown at her, had broken free of her bonds in a desperate bid for freedom. That took strength, more like a steel wall than the glass she appeared to be.</p><p>The woman sagged in his grip, leaving him to support her weight – trusting Gabriel to hold her up, as she had always trusted him, as she <em>shouldn’t</em> trust him. Her hands didn’t fly up to grasp at his arms; she didn’t struggle to try to get out of his grip – they both knew it would be futile. Instead, she stared up at him with those <em>sad</em> eyes. Damn her eyes; they should be terrified, angry – and still, they were sad.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” Her whisper was hoarse from disuse and dry from too little water. Did she think an apology would save her? That her apology, no matter how sincere, would change <em>anything</em>? The Reaper tightened his fingers on those fragile arms, digging the claws in deep until she bled, and pain erased the sorrow in the eyes that still peered up at him. Finally, <em>finally</em>, there was something in those eyes that he wanted to see.</p><p>“I don’t blame you.” A pause, surprise coloring her face briefly, and then, “I don’t blame you for hating me.” Her absolution, her forgiveness, was so quiet that he could barely hear it. For a moment, all he could hear was the rush of his blood and her panting breaths. She <em>didn’t blame</em> him? Did she think he needed her forgiveness, that he <em>wanted</em> it? His mouth opened, a verbal lash ready to strike her where it would hurt the most, when the door opened. The Reaper snapped his mouth shut and turned, dragging the doctor with him.</p><p>There stood a small group of Talon agents, who had been talking so casually that he knew they hadn’t been taking the search seriously. <em>None</em> of them were taking this doctor seriously; that was why she had escaped. That was why she hadn’t been broken. She was formidable in her own way, a quiet power that rarely made itself known, and they <em>all </em>had underestimated her.</p><p>No more.</p><p>He threw her body at the closest man, who barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Gabriel ignored her pale back and the tracks along it. Ignored the panting, desperate breaths and the way she hung limply in the guards’ arms.</p><p>“Take her back to her cell.” The Reaper’s voice was a sharp command, filled with authority and censure. “See that she can’t get out.” The Reaper glanced across the group. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.” He would have words with her interrogators, with the guards that were <em>supposed</em> to keep this from happening, with <em>anyone</em> who could be at fault.</p>
<hr/><p>They had left her to hang in silence for what seemed like an eternity after her failed escape attempt. Her mouth was dry – Angela hadn’t had a chance to eat or drink the offerings from her most recent release – and her mind was clouded.</p><p>All she could see, over and over, were those last moments in the armory. The apology that had been waiting for far too long, that was branded so deep into her arms that she was certain it would scar. The forgiveness she offered, unbidden and undemanded – a last goodbye to the man she loved, despite his betraying her <em>twice</em>. The way he had tossed her aside as if she were nothing – how he had ordered her back to <em>this</em> with such indifference.</p><p>Gabriel was gone, lost to her. What was left haunted her in the most horrific of ways.</p><p>When the door opened to her cell, she wasn’t ready. She would never be ready. It would become worse, so much worse. The only way to stop it would be to break – and Angela would never betray her friends in such a way. She would die before she broke.</p><p>There were no words spoken, no demands made. Just footsteps echoing around her as they took in her battered body and decided how to start. Then there were rough hands and a sharp blade at her left hip. Carelessly the blade drug down her leg, shearing through the cloth and, occasionally, her skin. The right leg followed, and then she hung there naked and helpless, blood dripping from her legs where they had broken skin. Her face burned with embarrassment, at this humiliating intimacy they forced upon her.</p><p>Still, they made no demands; this was a punishment for her escape, not an information gathering session. Not yet, at any rate – Angela doubted they would leave without at least making a token attempt to get information.</p><p>A rough hand pressed against her left heel and the front of her thigh, forcing her left leg straight. Before she could consider what they were doing, a foot slammed into her knee. The pain was so sudden and horrific that she didn’t have enough time to scream before she blacked out.</p><p>It was a short-lived relief.</p><p>They tossed cold water on her, pulling her back to consciousness in a series of sputters and gasps. Automatically, Angela shifted to rest her weight on both legs; her left leg gave out underneath her, and she made a low, pained noise as she nearly passed out again. As quickly as she could, she pulled all her weight into her arms and right leg, leaving her left to dangle uselessly. She shivered from the cold, her mind sluggishly trying to keep up with what was happening.</p><p>Suddenly, her head was yanked back by the hair.</p><p>“It seems we’ve been too gentle with you, princess.” The man rasped. He nudged her left leg with one of his feet, sending another wave of nauseating pain through her. A whine forced its way out of her throat and through her clenched teeth. “Didn’t know you liked it rough, but don’t you worry.” Wide-eyed, Angela tried to catch her breath and ride through the agony. He chuckled, a menacing sound, as he pressed his body against her back, free arm wrapping around her bare torso, just under her breasts. “We’ll take good care of you, you’ll see.”</p><p>Her shivers were no longer fueled by the cold but instead terror of what was to come.</p><p>She closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere – truly anywhere – but here. Away from the pain that was a constant companion, away from the grief, away from everything that this room and her chains represented. All she knew was pain and stubborn silence, no matter what horrors they inflicted upon her.</p><p>The man pulled away, releasing her hair and chest all at once. Angela sagged against her chains, desperately trying to keep weight off her injured leg. Her breathing was shallow, and her every thought was focused on <em>silence</em> while the cloud of pain threatened to overwhelm everything.</p><p>It was then that the questions came. Demands that Angela couldn’t answer, because to reply would betray everything she stood for, everything she <em>was</em>. If she answered, everything she had suffered would be for <em>nothing</em> – so she stayed silent.</p><p>The whip that crashed down upon her wasn’t the same as the one they used previously; this one had multiple, sharp ends that bit into her flesh and tore open the barely healed skin. Again and again, it crashed down. Their tools – the whips, their hands, the knives – were used everywhere. They gouged painful lines into her arms and legs while the whip made tracks along her stomach and back.</p><p>Angela bit back the pained sounds that wanted to tear from her throat. She forced back the tears of pain and anguish, physical and mental, as they continued to abuse her body. Her shoulders and arms ached from supporting most of her weight, but she couldn’t help it as she staggered from every blow. Every motion was agony – from her raw wrists to her chest as she panted, and then further still to her left knee that was pulsing in time with her heartbeat.</p><p>And the questions kept coming. It went on for hours – or at least, it felt like hours. At some point, her silence broke, whimpers tearing from her throat despite her best efforts. Tears streamed from her eyes, and still, they struck. If she passed out from the pain, they would throw more icy water over her until she returned to life with moans of protest.</p><p>It was an eternity before they filed out. Angela hung limply from the chains, unable to make the effort to stand on her good leg – even if it would give some meager relief. Blood was oozing down her <em>everything</em>, dripping and pooling beneath her.</p><p>Angela’s cheek was bruised, her lips bloody from where her teeth had caught the delicate skin inside her mouth. One eye was swollen and probably black – not that she could tell without a mirror. Her hair hung loosely in damp clumps around her bowed face, hiding the tears that she couldn’t hold back. Her body shivered with cold and shuddered in pain as she tried to find the resolve to stay strong.</p><p>---</p><p>Eventually, they had let her down, as they always did. Angela had dropped painfully onto her left leg with an agonized cry, the pain making her vision go grey and fuzzy. She gasped, one hand trying to reach for the knee as if grabbing for it would make <em>anything</em> better, before one of her guards – there were two this time – made a move for her. As quickly as she was able, she fell upon the rations before her with shaking hands.</p><p>Though she had missed her last meal, the portion had not changed – not that she had honestly expected it to. Gone too quick, they soon left, leaving her alone with her misery. Angela didn’t drag herself to the corner – it would be too painful with her broken leg. She wasn’t even sure she had the energy to make it that far.</p><p>Instead, she tried to make herself as comfortable as possible in the pool of congealing blood and icy water. As soon as the physical torture had ended, they had begun playing a grinding, static-filled noise that set her teeth on edge. Between the noise and the lights, it was nearly impossible to get any kind of rest – but her body was desperate.</p><p>Unfortunately, her captors had other plans.</p><p>Periodically, someone would come in and toss icy water over her form until she was shaking and wide awake. Each time, she expected to be strung up, but they just stomped back out and left her in a puddle. At least the water washed away most of the blood.</p><p>She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying on the ground when she heard it.</p><p>“<em>Angela</em>.” The familiar voice that she couldn’t quite place came from somewhere behind her, deeper inside the cell instead of near the door. It baffled her. She was almost certain no one was in the cell with her, that the men had left her alone again. Still, the curiosity had her bracing her torso up on her elbows to look over one shoulder.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>But she had <em>sworn</em> she had heard someone whisper her name. Angela stared for a long moment before allowing herself to drop back down to the floor again, unwilling to expend the energy.</p><p>More whispers came and went, voices scattered and selected at random from her memory. Sometimes it was McCree’s drawl, and other times it was a disapproving doctor from Cairo. Once, she heard what she thought was her grandmother, but it had been so long since she had heard her voice to know for sure.</p><p>What they said varied. Sometimes it was just her name – <em>Angela, Ange, Dr. Ziegler, Mercy</em>. Other times it was full sentences and phrases. Some were lauding her strength, for lasting so long. Others criticized her for allowing herself to be put into this situation. A minority told her that she was going to break, and it would all be for nothing. They came to Angela at any and all times. They would tear her down with her tormentors and try to lift her spirits when she was sobbing brokenly from her chains.</p><p>After the first few times, Angela had given up on searching for the speaker. Her heart couldn’t take any further defeat, couldn’t handle the crushing despair that she was alone, and that wouldn’t change. Sometimes she would twitch, glancing towards the murmur despite her resolve.</p><p>A distant part of her knew that the voices meant nothing good for her. The majority was just grateful for the company – especially when the words were kind. It had been so long since she had experienced anything that wasn’t pain or agony. Angela found herself looking forward to the voices, to hearing them even if she couldn’t see them.</p><p>Angela didn’t know how many times her captors had dropped her from the chains before she spotted a figure in one corner of the room. Jesse, the rugged cowboy with his stupid hat and <em>horrible</em> belt bucket, leaning casually against one wall. A cigar was in one hand, and she could smell the pungent smoke of his terrible habit. And he was just <em>standing</em> there. Doing nothing but staring.</p><p>She had blinked, trying to force back the tears of betrayal – and he was gone. No cowboy. No smoke.</p><p>Her captor had snapped at her, bringing her back to reality and prompting her to choke down the meager offerings. When he was gone – when they were all gone, when she was <em>alone</em> – she stared at that corner. Angela knew she should be resting, but he had been <em>here</em>. She had seen him, had <em>smelled</em> the smoke.</p><p>If she waited, if she watched, he <em>had</em> to come back.</p><p>And he would, along with others, to offer her encouragement and kindness that she would never receive from her captors. Jesse would appear in that corner, leaned up and chewing on his smelly cigar – but it was okay; she wouldn’t scold him for it because he was <em>here</em> and she wasn’t alone anymore.</p><p>“Just hang in there, darlin’.” He urged her in that familiar southern drawl. “We’re lookin’ all over for ya.” Of course they were; how could she ever think they would abandon her?</p><p>“Please, Jesse,” Angela begged, desperate eyes staring up at him, “please hurry.”</p><p>Sometimes it was Jack, blonde hair mussed over his big blue coat, sitting across from her.</p><p>“You can do this, Angela,” he’d say, leaning forward intently. “You can’t fail them now.” Her head would bow, drowning under the weight of the responsibility that he had left her when he had died.</p><p>“I can’t,” she’d whisper back. “It’s too much.” She had barely kept it together when she was just responsible for putting their bodies back together and reading the KIA reports. Angela was never meant to be their physical shield, too.</p><p>“You <em>can</em>.” He’d insist. “If <em>anyone</em> can, it’s you.” She didn’t know how anyone could have such faith in her. Angela knew she was stubborn, knew she was <em>being</em> stubborn, but even she had a limit.</p><p>Once, Ana had laid out on her back next to her, head tilted towards Angela with her small, gentle smile. Her eyes crinkled, dark hair fanned out around her as she ignored the puddle of water and blood around her.</p><p>“You’ll be alright, <em>ḥabībti</em>.”</p><p>Angela had closed her eyes, tears dripping down her cheeks. She could swear that she felt Ana’s hand stroke her hair soothingly but, when she opened her eyes, the woman was just looking at her warmly. Ana had stayed with her until they had dragged her back into the chains, murmuring kind words until there was nothing but pain.</p><p>Sometimes they would remain when her captors came back to her, whispering encouragement. Despite the blinding white lights, Angela could still see them, and she was grateful for the kind faces in the sea of agony. Other times they would disappear, but she knew one of them would come back.</p><p>The worst was Gabriel, <em>her</em> Gabriel. He had only appeared before her once. She had been curled up on the floor, shaking from the water they had just thrown on her to force her back to consciousness. It felt like it had been an eternity since she had slept – Angela was so <em>tired</em>. Her eyes, heavy and aching, opened – and there he was, half crouched before her.</p><p>He wasn’t dressed as the Reaper. No, he looked the way he always did in her memories: scarred cheeks with a hint of stubble, a black beanie pulled over his close-shaven hair and tucked under the gray hood of his jacket. His warm brown eyes looked down at her with such love and anguish that it <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>“You’re strong, <em>cariño</em>.” One of his hands reached down to touch her cheek gently, careful not to disturb the bruises and cuts there; his touch could have been red hot, and she still would have craved it, so desperate was she for affection and kindness. Her eyes stung with tears and exhaustion, but she refused to close her eyes – if she did that, he would be gone, she <em>knew</em> it.</p><p>“You’re the strongest person I know.” <em>This</em> was her Gabriel, the man she had loved and mourned, who she had buried. His voice was smooth and rich instead of a harsh growl.</p><p>“I-” Angela had nearly forgotten how to speak, how to do anything but whimper or scream. “I miss you.” The words were broken, so soft that she wasn’t sure she actually spoke them aloud. But he had smiled, a mirthless, sad expression that told her he had heard her regardless.</p><p>“I know. <em>Mi corazón</em>, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes had closed then, unable to support themselves any longer. Angela jolted them open again, hoping against hope that he had stayed – but of course, he was gone. How could she expect anything less?</p><p>He was the one that had put her here.</p><p>She had curled in on herself, sobs shaking her broken body as grief and pain coursed through her again. It was only after, in a brief moment of lucidity, that Angela wondered if they hadn’t broken her already.</p>
<hr/><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>The voice, usually gentle but currently horrified, made his hands pause in their bloody work. Gabriel doesn’t turn to look at her, doesn’t look up from the man he is slowly taking apart – piece by piece because that’s what he <em>does</em>. He rips and tears, cuts and slashes, until the blood runs in rivers and the answers he seeks are whimpered out through bloody teeth.</p><p><em>This</em> is the thing that Overwatch had turned him into when they had sent him away to the shadows. It’s what they shaped him into when he became the Commander of Blackwatch. He had learned those horrible acts that must be committed to get what was necessary, <em>whatever it takes</em>, to protect innocents from terrorists. Robbery. Blackmail. Extortion. Assassination.</p><p>Torture.</p><p>He had hated it, once. <em>Hated</em> the monster he had needed to become to survive his new calling. But he was the Commander, and he could not be seen to be weak, to be incapable. He was a fast learner, and soon he was capable of all sorts of horrors that would make any agent of Overwatch blanch – that he had never thought himself capable of. He had learned to be hard and unfeeling, had learned to wall off his heart because there was no place for mercy here.</p><p>Finally, Gabriel turned to look at the angel that stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the knob in a white-knuckled grasp. The other hovered uselessly over her mouth, as if to hide the stricken look. Her eyes – those <em>eyes</em> – were filled with horror as she took in the bloody tableau.</p><p>Angela Ziegler, <em>Mercy</em>, had no place here in this room of pain.</p><p>Gabriel turned and ushered her out of the room; this was not a conversation for a torture chamber. He wiped his bloody hands on his black pants – it was what they were there for, after all – and closed the door.</p><p>“What are <em>you</em> doing here?” He demanded, ignoring her question. It was obvious what he had been doing to the shackled man. What <em>wasn’t</em> obvious was why she was here in the dark heart of Blackwatch. She was Overwatch, through and through, the light to his darkness. The only time she ever visited this base was to rush into the infirmary – which was <em>nowhere</em> near the interrogation rooms – and try to bring one of his agents back from the edge of death.</p><p>She didn’t belong with him here in the shadows.</p><p>“Looking for you, of course.” Angela reached up with one shaking hand to wipe at a streak of blood on his cheek. He knew it wasn’t the blood that bothered her – she was a doctor, for God’s sake – but how it had gotten there. “What-” the question died on her lips, changing to a different one. “Why are you doing this?” He laughed mirthlessly.</p><p>“I told you, <em>cariño</em>.” Gabriel stepped away from her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I <em>told</em> you that Blackwatch was ugly and dark. That it would change me. What did you expect?” Her faith in him was a gift, but not even she could protect him from the horrors found here. “This is what we do.” What <em>he</em> does.</p><p>“I do not understand.” He rolled his eyes; of course she understood. She was the smartest person he knew – and he knew a <em>lot</em> of people. She was just refusing to accept the reality of his station, of their situation. It was surprising, really; it wasn’t often that she allowed her opinion of what <em>should be</em> to affect the reality of what <em>actually was</em>.</p><p>But Angela had put him on some sort of pedestal – just as he had for her, he realized suddenly – and had ignored the horrors that surrounded him. She believed there was good in him, that he still deserved to stand up next to her in the light. She only allowed herself to see him as Gabriel, not as Blackwatch Commander Reyes.</p><p>What she wanted, Gabriel couldn’t give.</p><p>“I can’t change this, Angela.” He glared down at the ground because he didn’t want to glare at her, to see that look of horror on her face as she finally <em>saw</em> him. “I’m the Commander of Blackwatch. It’s my duty.” Gabriel knew that she understood duty – she was the one that had preached about it when he had been assigned this horrible position.</p><p>“You are meant to protect people, <em>liebling</em>.” Her hands wrapped around his forearm, a gentle grip that he could easily break. “Come back with me; we will speak to Jack and fix this.” Gabriel scoffed; she had far too much faith in Jack, the brother neither of them had as children. Jack couldn’t fix this. The only way he could get out was to resign or to die.</p><p>He wasn’t one for quitting.</p><p>“This is who I am now, Angela.” He turned, pulling his arm out of her grip to face her fully. “You can’t change that, just like I can’t change you. I’m Commander Reyes, and you’re Mercy.” Angela crossed her arms, teeth worrying her lip. “This is who we are.”</p><p>The silence between them was deafening as she stepped into him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she buried her face in his chest, heedless of the blood that still clung to him. He hesitated for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around her, pressing his face to her hair so he could let her scent wash away the gore and terror of the interrogation room. It was the sterile smell of a hospital mixed with sunshine and oranges that was wholly Angela.</p><p>“Why does it have to be this way?” The words were small, sad. For all the ferocity in her heart, she was still far too gentle for this life they led.</p><p>“I don’t know, <em>mi corazón</em>.” He sighed, one hand lifting to stroke her hair gently. “Our choices led us here, and our pride forces us to continue.” That was the best answer he could think of. “It’s who we are.” He would not be Gabriel Reyes if he had not also joined the soldier program, had not become a Commander. She would not be Angela Ziegler if she had not become a doctor ten years earlier than any of her peers, had not become Mercy.</p><p>Silence again as she soaked in his answer, before she heaved a world-weary sigh.</p><p>“I wish it wasn’t like this.” She pulled away, turned to walk up the hall that would lead her to the exit. Angela glanced back, just once. “I still love you, Gabriel.” Before he could answer in kind, before he could question her word choice, she was gone. Gone to her world of light and <em>mercy</em>, leaving him once more to the dark and <em>agony</em>.</p><p>He opened the door to return to his work – and froze.</p><p>Instead of the man he had left behind, Angela hung from the chains. Her skin was loose, and her eyes were hollow. What little flesh that wasn’t torn to shreds was an ugly purple. One leg was broken, and her wrists were raw. She looked at him with such sorrow, such <em>agony</em>.</p><p>“Why does it have to be this way?” The words were disjointed, forced through a broken mouth and a throat raw from screaming.</p><p>Suddenly, his body wasn’t his own. He was stalking forward towards the woman who still wasn’t quite broken after all the abuse she had suffered. There were gloves on his hands, tipped with claws, that he dug into her sides savagely until she cried out and bled. The sound was music to his ears – it nauseated him – it wasn’t enough, would never be enough.</p><p>The Reaper turned to the tray of tools at his side. He used knives to part her once cream-colored skin. Pliers ripped nails and teeth from their homes. He flayed the skin from her back and burned the skin from the bottoms of her feet.</p><p>Despite the continued torment, she refused to say anything else. All he earned was broken whimpers, shrill screams, and tears. When he finally turned to leave the room, unsatisfied despite all his efforts, she allowed herself to break her vow of silence once more.</p><p>“I forgive you.” It was so quiet that he could barely hear it. His steps faltered briefly, but he continued out of the room. Before the door shut, faintly: “I still love you, Gabriel.”</p><p>---</p><p>The Reaper sat up in bed, sheets tangled around him, panting. One hand ran over his short hair, trying to chase away the remnants of what could only be a dream – nightmare? both? – fueled from the parts of him that were still Gabriel. With a frustrated growl, the Reaper rose from his bed. He wouldn’t get any sleep, not after <em>that</em>, so he may as well find something useful to do with his time.</p>
<hr/><p>“No? Nothin’ at all?” Jesse let out a frustrated sigh. “Alrigh’, thanks anyway.” He disconnected and tossed the communicator into his hat on the table next to him. Another fruitless call that had ended in disappointment. He took another drag of his cigarette. He needed to remember to get another pack; he’d been blowing through them more quickly than usual since Angela’s disappearance.</p><p>She would be so upset to know that she – or her absence, at least – was the reason he was smoking more heavily lately. Jesse frowned; now why’d he have to go and think something so depressing like that? There was no way he could finish the cigarette after that thought, so he stubbed it out.</p><p>He had spent the last two weeks calling anyone and everyone he knew to try and get any kind of lead on Angela’s whereabouts. Some of his contacts were dead, others in prison; the rest he’d had to do some searching – and was, in some cases, <em>still</em> searching – but he was barely making headway. Whoever had Angela either had it wrapped down tight or was so powerful that people were just afraid to talk, or perhaps both.</p><p>However you went about it, it ended with the same result: nothing.</p><p>Lena – Tracer to the rest of the world – had gone public on Angela’s behalf. From what he had been told, news agencies across the globe reported the story, and the UN had taken a special interest in the case. Of course they would: Angela had once been a symbol of peace, healing, and hope. While she wasn’t always happily greeted these days, she was still a notable figure.</p><p>Her absence had people speculating all sorts of things. He had heard on the radio that there was a rumor of Angela having gotten pregnant and was trying to hide it. Jesse had scoffed at the idea; Angela was incapable of hiding – or <em>stopping</em> – when there was work to be done. She would never let something so small as a scandal keep her from doing her duty. Other rumors stated that she was being held for ransom. Jesse wished it were that simple. He’d turn himself in for the bounty on his head, if only to pay for her safe return. The darkest of all had her dead already, and they were only chasing a ghost.</p><p>Jesse had been in a foul mood after hearing <em>that</em> particular rumor.</p><p>While he had been chasing up old contacts, the UN had created a public, international hotline for people to call in with information on Angela’s whereabouts. Most of the calls were useless, along the lines of ‘I saw a blonde woman once about a week ago.’ The rest, the more promising leads, were investigated with ruthless single-mindedness. They gave some to various agencies across the globe – Jesse didn’t like the thought of Angela being in anyone’s care but theirs, <em>Overwatch’s</em>, but he was realistic enough to understand that they couldn’t be <em>everywhere</em>.</p><p>He couldn’t help but think that if Overwatch hadn’t fallen, they <em>could</em> be. That this would never have happened in the first place because she would have been <em>safe</em>.</p><p>They were certainly trying their best to do just that, however. The rallying cry had been answered by many prior agents, scattered around the globe. Reinhardt and his pupil – squire, he called her – Brigitte were in northern Europe; they sent any tips that led to that part of the world their way. Genji was in Nepal, and Fareeha was in Egypt. Lena held western Europe and Torbjörn was in the east. Jesse was holding the Americas as best he could, with a few other agents who had answered when they had been called.</p><p>Winston, working on rebuilding Overwatch so that they could have a <em>proper</em> team and headquarters to base themselves out of, had kept to the shadows. He was capable of multitasking, however, so he was helping to coordinate their efforts. Athena was doing her best to investigate through electronic means – but that was a big world and, while Athena was quite remarkable, it was a near-impossible task.</p><p>Still, between the tips, Athena, and Jesse’s contacts, they should have found <em>some</em> kind of lead. <em>Something</em> that at least pointed in her general direction, to give them some hope instead of crushing disappointment.</p><p>Every tip they had received turned out to be false. Some were just ‘harmless’ pranks by stupid punks that didn’t realize how serious the situation was. Others had been people trying to con their way into receiving the reward Lena was offering towards Angela’s recovery. Jesse was convinced that a few were from terrorist cells or similar groups trying to make trouble.</p><p>Every day that passed, hope diminished. By this point, Angela had been in their hands – whoever <em>they</em> were – for almost three weeks. If they wanted money, they would have put a ransom demand out by now: either immediately, to one of the prior Overwatch agents, or shortly after the UN had started their hotline. If they wanted her dead, her body should have been discovered by now.</p><p>That they had neither only reaffirmed Jesse’s belief that she was being held captive somewhere. At the <em>very</em> best, she was being held by some gang leader or drug lord and was being forced to care for their injured. Such captivity would come with relative safety and comfort – once she was convinced to cooperate, that is.</p><p>He was more realistic; if she were going to be taken for such a thing, she would have been taken long ago.</p><p>No, he was sure that her kidnapping and Winston’s recall were linked. That put his focus primarily on Talon and Null Sector as the most likely culprits. Of all the terrorist groups, those two stood to gain the most should Overwatch stay dead. Others on his radar were Los Muertos and the Shimada Clan. He had already personally investigated the Deadlock Gang and was almost positive that they weren’t responsible.</p><p>Still, that left four potential suspects. That was three too many. Jesse wasn’t above trying to break into any of their bases to try and find a lead. He had been talked out of that – mostly because it was suicidal at <em>best</em> – but he still toyed with the thought in his darker moments.</p><p>All they had was the hope that they could find Angela before it was too late – and that hope was steadily dying.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Let the streets run red with my revenge<br/>
You can't fake apologies for everything you do </em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Ghost Town [Egypt Central] </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Act IV: Shattering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>You feel them drinking in your pain to kill the memories<br/>
So close your eyes and let it hurt<br/>
The voice inside begins to stir<br/>
Are you reminded of all you used to be<br/><br/>
- Lie to Me (Denial) [Red] </em></p>
<hr/><p>Angela wasn’t due to be worked on for another hour, but Gabriel still found himself on the opposite side of the glass, watching her. He had looked in on her progress intermittently - sometimes in person, other times by patching into the security cameras in her cell. It wasn’t the same as experiencing it live, but he had made his choice.<br/>
<br/>
Having given up the honor of taking her apart himself, he had <em>other</em> work to do that kept him busy. Paperwork - because of <em>course</em> he couldn’t escape paperwork, not even here - and planning for his latest op. He’d be leaving later today, so this would be his last chance to see her until he returned in about a week.<br/>
<br/>
Angela was curled up on the ground, directly under the manacles that she was so often attached to. She had stopped spending the energy to crawl to a corner, clearly too exhausted from everything she was experiencing to try and make an attempt. Instead, she was curled up as small as she could stand with her back to the glass. Her hands were pressed to her ears, trying to escape the grinding noise that they were pumping into the room, while her eyes were shut tight against the still-bright light of the room.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel could almost see her misery rising off her body, nearly <em>taste</em> the agony that came off her in waves. Her body had been pushed to its limits since her escape attempt two weeks ago, and she <em>still</em> had managed to refuse to answer them.<br/>
<br/>
Even from where he stood, he could see her ribs and each individual knob of her spine. It was a little difficult, considering the split skin and black bruises that nearly hid her pasty white skin entirely and made her skin swell, but not impossible. He knew, from experience, that her eyes would be sunken and her skin would hang loosely where muscle had once been but hadn’t yet tightened.<br/>
<br/>
Along with the sound, they had lowered the temperature in the room. He could see her shiver intermittently as her body tried in vain to keep her warm. Even when they weren’t planning on a session, they would douse her with water semi-regularly to keep her both awake and miserable.<br/>
<br/>
Between the light, sound, freezing temperatures, and nightmares that woke her screaming, he doubted she got much sleep.<br/>
<br/>
Somehow, though, he was almost certain she had managed to fall asleep despite all that. Gabriel remembered having to practically carry the woman out of her labs, making her rest after an eighteen-hour day; now they were forcing her to stay awake for thirty or more hours at a time, perhaps broken up by a quick nap here or there before they dragged her back to consciousness. It wasn’t surprising that her body was shutting down as often as it was able, despite the hurdles thrown in its way.<br/>
<br/>
Still, knowing her the way he did - the way he <em>had</em>, rather - he hadn’t expected her to last this long, not since they had increased the intensity of her torture.<br/>
<br/>
After all that time, they had only managed to pry a few scattered, breathy pleas from her mouth: ‘<em>stop</em>’ and ‘<em>please</em>’ being her most common choices. Otherwise, the only sounds she made were those of pain: broken whimpers and shrill screams that were followed by silent sobs once they had finished a session.<br/>
<br/>
Angela had stopped being silent the first time they had broken her knee. The nanites in her body had healed it quickly enough that they had broken it once more six days ago; it surprised him that it healed at all, considering the rest of the trauma across her body. That was when she had started giving them her words, one strained plea at a time. It had also been when she had stopped holding back the tears of pain during her sessions.<br/>
<br/>
But, the further they progressed with Angela, the more often she got that far away, distant look that was so common among their prisoners as they got closer and closer to their breaking point. Sometimes they could pull Angela back down to Earth, to the agony that was her reality, with ice water - either splashed upon her naked, broken body or dumped down her mouth and nose, so she thought she was drowning - or with white-hot irons pressed to the sensitive skin of her feet or inner thighs.<br/>
<br/>
Other times they would be forced to stop in the middle of the session, toeing that fine line between forcing her to bend to their will and breaking her altogether. Angela would hang there, face slack as she escaped from the cell that contained her mortal form. Sometimes she wouldn’t come back for hours. But, eventually, her face would fill with pain and <em>knowing</em>, and that would be the signal to continue where they had left off.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel had no idea how long he stood there, watching her spine rise and fall shakily with her shallow breaths, before Sombra cleared her throat to get his attention. The Reaper turned his head just enough to acknowledge her, but his eyes were only for the angel that was <em>almost</em> mortal. Nearly there, so <em>close</em> that the Reaper hated - <em>hated</em> - leaving and possibly missing it.<br/>
<br/>
“What?” The Reaper demanded finally, when it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything. She could be so <em>infuriating</em> at times. He hadn’t called her, hadn’t asked for her presence; she had imposed on <em>him</em>, had <em>initiated</em> their interaction. He didn’t even know how long she had been standing in the room with him.<br/>
<br/>
Were it anyone but Sombra, that would concern him - but the hacker was <em>exceptionally</em> sneaky, especially with her cloaking technology. Even he had a hard time noticing her when she wanted to go unseen - and that was when he was actively searching.<br/>
<br/>
“Just looking in on the <em>doctora</em>.” The woman kept her distance, leaning against the wall by the door as her ultraviolet eyes - she wasn’t even <em>trying</em> to pretend that her eye color was natural today - took in the broken blonde in the other room. Gabriel made a disbelieving noise as he returned his attention to the woman he had come to see.<br/>
<br/>
Perhaps, when they were done, he would go in to speak to her, see if she would still offer <em>forgiveness</em> after all that she had experienced.<br/>
<br/>
“What?” Sombra asked, almost defensively. “You’re not the only one who’s watching her progress, <em>Gabe</em>.” His previous name, a taunt designed specifically to get a rise out of him. She was the only one who got away with it - mostly because, no matter what he had done to try and dissuade her, she just kept <em>doing </em>it. The Reaper could only hope that ignoring it would make her stop.<br/>
<br/>
At least she usually only said it in private.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m surprised you don’t just use your toys.” He grumbled in return. The Reaper knew why <em>he</em> didn’t use the cameras - they were far too impersonal for his tastes. It wasn’t enough, not really, standing in this room and watching instead of <em>doing</em>. His fingers itched to bury themselves inside her flesh, to bleed her himself. Unfortunately, now more than ever, Gabriel knew that he couldn’t do it and survive the experience.<br/>
<br/>
Silence fell between them as they watched Angela’s labored breathing. It stayed as her interrogators stomped into the room; not even that noise roused her from whatever slumber, or perhaps catatonia, she was in. They yanked her up off the ground impersonally, hooked her raw - and possibly scarred, he couldn’t tell under the bruising - wrists into the manacles.<br/>
<br/>
Once she was in place, they threw a bucket of water over her. It sent her gasping, sputtering, her body’s shivers doubling as it tried to fend off the chill. Her eyes were unseeing for so long that he thought they would have to get another bucket, or perhaps one of the irons - and then suddenly the blue became focused.<br/>
<br/>
The angel was with them again.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>No</em>.” The word was a broken, breathy sound, a prayer and a plea wrapped together as she tried desperately to stop what she knew was coming. They met her beg with a demand for answers, the questions unchanged from that first day she had hung from those chains. Still, she refused to answer.<br/>
<br/>
They shifted her broken leg, making her lose consciousness and forcing them to bring her screaming back to life with hot irons. They grabbed her breasts, between her legs, pressing against her in a violent threat that sent Angela gasping and heaving in pure terror and disgust at the implication. Her head was yanked back, cloth forced over her face, before ice water was dumped over and into her. They used the knives to split her flesh and carve uncaring lines into her skin before using pliers to rip out a nail or two.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s hard to remember that she’s a person,” Sombra murmured finally, after a particularly shrill scream, “when she’s on the other side of a screen.” Gabriel had forgotten she was standing there; Sombra had been so still and quiet. When he glanced towards the hacker, he could see that her usually warm skin was ashen.<br/>
<br/>
“If she doesn’t bend soon,” the Reaper rumbled in return, “she will break.” The man turned to look at Angela once more. Something akin to pity rose in him before he shook it off. “And if she breaks, well,” he didn’t know whether to sigh in disgust or relief, “she <em>won’t</em> be a person anymore.” Sombra sucked in a breath, probably sharper than she had intended considering the way she quickly turned away completely to hide her expression.<br/>
<br/>
Without a word, she stalked out of the room. The Reaper didn’t watch her go.</p>
<hr/><p>She came back to herself slowly.<br/>
<br/>
Her body was numb. Angela wasn’t sure what the exact cause was. It could be the cold, from the chilled room and the freezing water; it might be the blood loss, from the wounds that were still weeping as her nanites struggled to heal her. Maybe her mind was putting up a wall, trying to protect her from what it could. Perhaps it was the shock, finally, <em>blessedly</em> settling in. That meant her end was, hopefully, nearing.<br/>
<br/>
It couldn’t come soon enough.<br/>
<br/>
Angela opened her eyes, fully expecting to be blinded by the ever-present lights. Though they kept her from being able to see her assailants, they hadn’t stopped her from seeing her friends. Despite the pain the lights brought, she couldn’t help herself; it was the only solace she had.<br/>
<br/>
To her surprise, Angela found herself sprawled out on the cold concrete. She was so distant, so numb, that she hadn’t even realized she wasn’t hanging from the chains. Instead, she was lying in a puddle of water, tinted red with her blood. Angela knew the water was at <em>least</em> cold - probably freezing - but she couldn’t feel it. She should be in agony, but, laying there in the puddle - motionless except for her faint breaths - she felt nothing. It should concern her, but it was such bliss that the implications didn’t matter anymore.<br/>
<br/>
Angela didn’t know how she got there.<br/>
<br/>
No, that wasn’t right. Angela knew <em>exactly</em> how she got there; the process was the same every single time. She didn’t <em>remember</em> getting there. The last thing she remembered was a barked question about McCree - where was he, where would he go - and her bitter, pitiful <em>no</em>. She didn’t remember the pain that had come next, that she <em>knew</em> had come next because her refusal <em>always</em> came with pain. Angela didn’t remember any other questions or being dropped from these chains to land heavily and painfully on the cool concrete.<br/>
<br/>
This wasn’t the first time she had lost time, but it <em>was</em> the first time she had started in one place and ended in another. Usually, she would be in the middle of a cry of pain or listening to a question she wouldn’t answer - then suddenly the men were gone, and she was all alone. It wouldn’t be long before they realized she was awake and came stomping back in, ready to resume her agony.<br/>
<br/>
It was hard to bring herself to care about the memory loss when she compared it to the memories she was already trying to hide from. Why would she want to remember anything else when she had already endured so much?<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes swept the room, as was her habit now, searching for a friendly face.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, she found the Reaper. His arms crossed as he gazed down at where she lay on the cool ground, heedless of the water and blood he stood in. Her eyes widened and she tried to scramble back, causing a scream of pain to erupt from her throat. In her terror, Angela had forgotten - she had been <em>so </em>numb - that her body was broken. The movement destroyed the thin barrier her mind had erected between her consciousness and the agony, and now everything was screaming just like she was.<br/>
<br/>
Angela didn’t know how long it took to come back down, to push the agony down to something tolerable. Once she was coherent, she took precious, agonizing moments to shift and rearrange herself into a position that provided minimal pain. It was impossible to find a position that <em>didn’t</em> hurt. Then, her eyes scanned the room - what parts she could see, anyway - for Jack or Ana or <em>anyone</em> to help her.<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes found the Reaper again, still glowering a few feet away, the entire reason she had moved in the first place. How had she allowed herself to be distracted from the man, the monster, that had put her in here?<br/>
<br/>
“Gab-” Angela couldn’t help herself from starting the name, but she managed to bite it off. She cowered back, whimpering as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. Her shoulders hunched and her head ducked down low, waiting for him to strike her for the misstep. The last two times had ended poorly for her; how could she expect this one to end any better, <em>especially</em> considering how much worse it had become since the last time she had seen him?<br/>
<br/>
Silence.<br/>
<br/>
He terrified Angela; her body was so tense that it was shaking. This was the Reaper, not Gabriel - he had told her that, sometime in her painful, foggy past. He had punished her the last time she had made the mistake; how could it be any different now, when her torture was much worse than before? When <em>he</em> had been the one that had put her in this position in the first place?<br/>
<br/>
She tried to listen for any movement, any sign at all that he was approaching. Angela knew it was a futile effort - the grinding noise they were playing made it impossible to hear how her captors moved around her, finding the best place to strike.<br/>
<br/>
“You’ve seen better days.” Angela would have scoffed, had she the energy or the breath. Of course she had seen better days; not even when she had been rescued from a collapsed building had Angela been this hurt - but she’d had armor, then. Now, she was nothing but naked flesh and bones, a ghost of the woman she had once been.<br/>
<br/>
“What, nothing to say today?” He taunted, sounding no closer than he had before. Hesitantly, Angela raised her head a little, just enough that she could see the gleaming white of his mask. He was no longer standing - at some point he had crouched, bracing his forearms against his knees; it was a familiar position, one Gabriel had adopted countless times.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel - the <em>Reaper</em>, she corrected herself fiercely - had been the only one she had spoken to until now. He was the only one who had received more than one-word denials and pleas. He hadn’t asked for information in the two previous encounters - he hadn’t asked for anything at all. Because of that, she had blindly offered herself to him, allowing him inside her walls like she always did and giving him the forgiveness he hadn’t even demanded.<br/>
<br/>
Like her, he was too proud to ask for such things.<br/>
<br/>
“Wh-” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What is there to say?” It came out rough and weak, not nearly as defiant as she wished it to be. The only defiance she had left was her prayer for silence, repeated in her mind with a fierce devotion that could put any priest to shame as they beat and bled her. It had been a challenge, but Angela found she would do much worse for her friends.<br/>
<br/>
Her friends, who sometimes visited her but would never save her. They would keep her company as she died in this room, one inch at a time. Their whispered kindnesses and gentle touches were still Heaven compared to the Hell she lived in, and she reveled in their presence. Her eyes swept the room again, but she was still alone.<br/>
<br/>
“Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?” Angela’s eyes snapped back to his mask, reminded once more of his presence. Then, his words registered, and she shuddered at the reminder of their last encounter when he had viciously returned her forgiveness before casually returning her to this cage that was her death sentence.<br/>
<br/>
Angela knew she shouldn’t play into his game. She should keep her mouth shut, refuse to make a sound that wasn’t forced out of her with their tools. The Reaper was just chipping at her walls, trying to make her break and betray everyone she loved, just as he had so long ago.<br/>
<br/>
He knew the secret paths that let him get behind her walls because he had been the one to create them. He was the only one who had gotten close, had <em>seen</em> all of her - the good and the bad. Gabriel was her deadly weakness, here in this place of blood.<br/>
<br/>
Angela<em> hated</em> that Gabriel was still her weakness, the chink in her armor, even after all this time - after everything he had done. She <em>hated</em> that she still loved him, that her love made it possible to look past his transgressions - <em>all</em> of them.<br/>
<br/>
“I have <em>always</em> forgiven Gabriel.” Angela corrected, voice raspy and breathless. She <em>wanted</em> to hate Gabriel, <em>should</em> hate him. He had done so much to ruin her life. Gabriel had destroyed her home and the life he’d gifted her. He had killed her friends and family along with hundreds of people who had been hers – <em>theirs</em> - to protect. He had ripped away <em>everything</em> that had been hers and shattered it into tiny pieces.<br/>
<br/>
And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself to hate him. She had spent far too many years loving and forgiving him to stop now. It was one of her many faults, but never had it been one of her regrets - not even after discovering what she had turned him into.<br/>
<br/>
She had forgiven him for the destruction of Zürich - her home and her life - long before she had discovered he was alive. Angela knew it was irrational, that if it had been <em>anyone</em> else, she would have held onto the grudge until her last breath, but it was <em>Gabriel</em>. She had been willing to follow him to the gates of Hell itself - what was forgiveness compared to that?<br/>
<br/>
She had done so much worse for him, after all.<br/>
<br/>
“I will<em> always</em> forgive Gabriel.” Long ago, before Overwatch had fallen, she had chosen Gabriel - and everything that it meant. He was Blackwatch, the shadowy partner to Overwatch that committed horrible acts that Angela could <em>never</em> condone. But to choose Gabriel was to accept that <em>he</em> was the one who ordered those atrocities - sometimes took part and stained his hands red.<br/>
<br/>
Somehow, she <em>had</em> accepted him - and forgiven him. Love had made it so easy.<br/>
<br/>
That love had stuck with her all these years, long after she had moved past the destruction and betrayal. It was with her even now, broken and bloody on the ground. Angela had believed she had moved on from him, from <em>all</em> of them, but she had always been good at lying to herself. She had just avoided the feeling, burying it deep under her work until she was numb and could forget.<br/>
<br/>
Forget the grief. Forget the love. Forget <em>everything</em>. The only time Angela had allowed herself to feel, to remember, was when she stood before his grave with a bundle of flowers that always seemed so inadequate.<br/>
<br/>
Then she would be back to work. Her emotions were bottled back again, hidden alongside the parts that were Angela so that she was only Dr. Ziegler. She worked sixteen-hour days minimum, even on holidays, doing her best to work until she crawled into bed with exhaustion. Angela did a<em>nything</em> she could to keep from remembering how her world had collapsed around the one man who, even now, held her heart within an iron cage.<br/>
<br/>
The man that she had forgiven for <em>everything</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Angela had even forgiven him for her original capture and those first days in this chamber, when she had thought it was Gabriel that had put her there. She had hurt him, as he had hurt her. But, unlike her, he had been unable to move past that anger, and it had festered for all these years into hatred. She could forgive him for giving in to that darker, human emotion - despite the pain she had experienced.<br/>
<br/>
“But you,” her voice caught in her throat, thick with emotion, “you aren’t him anymore, are you?” Angela’s head bowed again, stringy hair falling around her face as she tried to collect herself.<br/>
<br/>
Her Gabriel was dead, and in his place was the monster that had sent her into this room. The Reaper had been the one to throw her back into this horrible room, had ordered her torture to become so much <em>worse</em>. Gabriel could have never ordered such agony for <em>her</em>. He could not have come to her afterward and <em>gloated</em> as he was doing now.<br/>
<br/>
He was the Reaper, not Gabriel. While she could always forgive Gabriel, she would <em>never</em> forgive the Reaper. The Reaper had been the one that had thrown her into this horrific room. The Reaper had been the one to take over Gabriel’s body and memories, had become the psychopath that crouched before her.<br/>
<br/>
<em>He</em> could never earn her forgiveness.<br/>
<br/>
Once more in control of her emotions, Angela lifted her head again. Her eyes caught the bone-white of his mask before scanning the room. She could never go more than a few minutes without glancing around the room, searching to see if one of her friends had appeared.<br/>
<br/>
A flash of gold over the Reaper’s black shoulder signaled that Jack had returned to her. His blue coat was a stark contrast to the black and grey that made up this room.<br/>
<br/>
He gave the Reaper a withering look before he turned to Angela, face rearranging to something more sympathetic. She couldn’t look away, not even for the lover-turned-monster that was barely five feet away. She greedily drank in Jacks’ presence, his kindness, like a flower soaks up sunshine.<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t give in, Angela.” She couldn’t tell if he was ordering her or begging her. Was he speaking as her Commander or her brother? “You<em> know</em> it isn’t him.” Angela knew it, she <em>did</em>. She had learned that lesson the hard way, through blood and pain, but she had learned.<br/>
<br/>
“Gabriel is <em>dead</em>. Don’t let this monster trick you.” Angela wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. She had let her guard down, had thought that there was <em>some</em> hope after he called her <em>mi corazón</em>, but that hope was a terrible lie. Angela would never allow herself to trust the monster before her.<br/>
<br/>
But it was <em>hard</em>.<br/>
<br/>
It was hard knowing that, under the mask, it was Gabriel’s body. Somewhere, underneath the murderous Reaper, were Gabriel’s memories. He was so very close and yet terribly far away.<br/>
<br/>
A sharp shake sent a wave of agony through her. The worst was her broken knee, scraping against the ground where she had settled it. She choked on a pained whine, eyes closing as she tried to ride the waves that were now so horribly familiar. Eventually, her watery eyes opened and glanced quickly to where Jack had been - but he was gone. Her attention slid back to the Reaper when his claws tightened on her arms, terrified that he might shake her again.<br/>
<br/>
The Reaper was kneeling in the water before her, heedless of the liquid that was soaking into his clothes. The skull mask was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face, hot against her freezing skin. His clawed hands were wrapped around her arms in the exact place he had buried her forgiveness in that armory. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, he had gotten so close - how had she missed his movement?<br/>
<br/>
“Are you still with me?” The growled phrase was a knife in her heart. When her nightmares became too much, when she was lost in her memories, Gabriel would pull her back down to Earth with those words. She hated that they were being used to bring her back to this place.<br/>
<br/>
Still.<br/>
<br/>
“I - I am.” The broken words were familiar, well-rehearsed - and wrong for this place. “For now.” The assurance, which used to be a gentle reminder of her mortality, was now bitter and desperate. Hopeful, even, for the sweet embrace of death and the relief it would bring to her.<br/>
<br/>
His claws bit into her skin, angry at the reminder of his past life - the script that <em>he</em> had started, this man who <em>swore</em> he wasn’t Gabriel. She had merely followed his lead and finished the scene. Angela had known she shouldn’t, that she should deviate and say <em>anything</em> else - or better yet, say <em>nothing</em> at all - but she couldn’t help herself.<br/>
<br/>
He wasn’t Gabriel, and yet he was.<br/>
<br/>
She knew she should fight, should <em>struggle</em>, try to escape the grip he had on his arms - but even at her best she could never have escaped his hold. Even if she had, where would she go? Her knee was broken, incapable of holding her weight for any amount of time. It was impossible to crawl away to safety. Instead, she let the Reaper hold her trembling body upright, hands limp at her sides.<br/>
<br/>
“How did it come to this, <em>liebling</em>?” She whispered, voice breaking, before allowing her head to fall forward and press against the hovering mask. Angela knew the question, the action, would only bring pain - but she found it hard to care. Her entire life was pain; what was a little more?<br/>
<br/>
The Reaper stiffened, probably in surprise at her audacity, and his claws dug in as his fists clenched. A heartbeat passed, and then another. Now it was her turn to be surprised - she hadn’t expected him to allow her to remain pressed against him so intimately.<br/>
<br/>
It was only a few moments - far too long yet never enough - before he shoved her away, releasing her arms so she collapsed on her back. As she tried to recover from the shock, the Reaper rose and stalked out of the room.<br/>
<br/>
Angela refused to allow herself to foster hope. It would only lead to more heartbreak in the end.</p>
<hr/><p>Gabriel had gone into that too bright room with its grating noise and lowered the doctor from her chains - far more gently than she usually was, though she wasn’t conscious to appreciate it. Then he had waited, leaning against one wall, for the woman to come back from wherever she had escaped to.<br/>
<br/>
He knew it was foolish to wait, since she could be gone for hours at a time, but he had hoped that she would return before he had to leave.<br/>
<br/>
His patience had been rewarded less than an hour later, when the doctor began to stir. Gabriel had moved forward eagerly until he was only a few feet from Angela. Her face had clouded with confusion - but, curiously, no pain - until her eyes had found him. Then there was nothing but fear that turned into pure agony as she tried to get away from him.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel had thought she would escape then, that she’d disappear before he’d even said anything.<br/>
<br/>
Her screams had petered off relatively quickly, but coherency didn’t return for several long minutes. It was even longer before she was looking around again; the surprise that had turned to frustration made Gabriel realize she had forgotten his presence in the face of her blinding pain. The Reaper wasn’t sure if that was concerning or not.<br/>
<br/>
She should be more aware, more <em>afraid</em>, even in the throes of agony. She hadn’t even registered him as a threat until her eyes had landed on him. Was it that her subconscious didn’t think he was a threat to her, and therefore could be ignored? Was she too close to breaking, to becoming nothing but a hollow shell that had once housed the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler?<br/>
<br/>
“Gab-” Angela had cut herself off so quickly he was surprised she didn’t bite the tip of her tongue off. She had cringed back then, making herself smaller – he hadn’t thought such a feat was possible – with a small, pained sound.<br/>
<br/>
There should have been anger at his old name on her lips, a reminder of everything she had stolen from him. There should have been pleasure – exultation, even – at the sight of her trembling before him, terrified of what he would do next.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, the Reaper felt empty, devoid of anything that would have satisfied him in this moment. That made him furious. How <em>dare</em> this victory be nothing. <em>This </em>was the whole point. This was the moment he had been waiting for <em>years</em>.<br/>
<br/>
They had come full circle, the two of them. Once, it had been his turn to beg for death. Now it was hers.<br/>
<br/>
He should feel <em>something</em> that would make all these years of suffering worth it. It was supposed to make him feel better. There was supposed to be a release, the bottled-up hatred being satisfied with her ruined body.<br/>
<br/>
The Reaper wanted to push forward and string the doctor back up. He wanted to dig in his claws and make her choke on the pain until <em>he</em> felt something. Surely that was what was missing: he hadn’t <em>personally</em> broken her, and so the satisfaction - the victory - was out of his reach<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel had other ideas.<br/>
<br/>
There was no pleasure in seeing Angela like this. He had thought it would help, as the Reaper had - but all he felt was pity for the shaking and whimpering woman. Or was it guilt? He was the one who had put her in this room, had condemned her to this terrible fate.<br/>
<br/>
He couldn’t bring himself to move closer to the blonde for fear that she would panic and hurt herself again. Instead, he crouched down so that, if she looked up, it would be easier for her to see him.<br/>
<br/>
After a few moments, it was apparent that Angela wasn’t going to be the one to speak first. It was his turn to be on the receiving end of the silent treatment that she had offered everyone else. He didn’t blame her; they were enemies here in this room, regardless of what pity Gabriel might feel<br/>
<br/>
“You’ve seen better days.” He could see the woman she had once been, even now. Her skin was unblemished - ethereal, <em>perfect</em> - and clean of any blood and gore. Golden hair shone in the light of her wings, which spread wide behind her as she looked up at him with her usual kindness from beneath her halo.<br/>
<br/>
Then he blinked, and the broken woman reappeared. That perfect skin was now slashed and bruised, pulled tight over her bones into sharp edges. She trembled in a puddle of freezing water and her own fluids. Her hair was no longer lustrous but stringy with oil. The glowing wings were broken, her halo gone.<br/>
<br/>
It was wrong. Angela was supposed to be tall and proud, not this debased creature.<br/>
<br/>
“What, nothing to say today?” Gabriel wasn’t above goading her to get her to speak. He wanted to refuse to leave until she talked to him, but he knew that would be impossible. He had to leave soon, while she had the patience of a God and the stubbornness of a thousand bulls.<br/>
<br/>
It had worked, though. Angela had looked up at him cautiously, obviously worried about further pain. Her sunken eyes had regarded him with a mixture of fear, anger, and sorrow - but the fear was by far the strongest of the three. Still, she had swallowed and responded with her damaged voice.<br/>
<br/>
“Wh-What is there to say?” Of course. Why would she speak to him, the lover-turned-enemy that had condemned her to this existence of terror and pain? Why had he even come in here in the first place?<br/>
<br/>
Right. The Reaper had wanted to gloat, to throw her forgiveness back into her face. He had wanted to revel in the agony before they left the Oasis base. Now, standing in the room, they had discovered that it was impossible. There was nothing but hollow pity and seeds of doubt.<br/>
<br/>
But the Reaper had to try and get what he had come for, anyway.<br/>
<br/>
“Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?” Her eyes had been wandering, obviously searching for <em>something</em> instead of focusing on the threat in the room, but they snapped back as soon as he spoke. A shudder rolled through her before she stiffened and steeled herself.<br/>
<br/>
“I have <em>always</em> forgiven Gabriel.” While her voice was weak, her eyes were steely with resolution. It was a truth that Gabriel had always accepted but never understood. How could she forgive him for <em>anything</em> that he had done as the Blackwatch Commander? She knew the horrors he had perpetuated - <em>especially</em> now after experiencing it firsthand - and she was <em>still</em> offering absolution for his part.<br/>
<br/>
It absolutely rocked Gabriel.<br/>
<br/>
“I will <em>always</em> forgive Gabriel.” The blonde had continued, as firmly as her broken throat would allow. The Reaper couldn’t believe her. He had utterly destroyed whatever faith she had held for Gabriel; the Reaper had <em>seen</em> the defeat when the guards had dragged her away. It was impossible for her to still have hope after everything she had been through.<br/>
<br/>
“But you,” the words stumbled, breaking as her blue eyes became sad <em>again</em>, “you aren’t him anymore, are you?” There it was. Gabriel, the man she remembered, was forgiven - but the Reaper, the monster he had become, was not.<br/>
<br/>
It should give him relief, that forgiveness. After everything Angela had gone through - and would continue to go through - she could still find compassion and gentleness in her heart. She could find the kinder emotions that should have been destroyed after so long in this cage.<br/>
<br/>
Guilt washed over him.<br/>
<br/>
She was teetering at the edge; all it would take was one calculated shove to send her spiraling. Her head bowed again, trying to hide the emotion they both knew she felt. Angela’s spine and shoulders were pronounced as she panted, trying to pull herself together.<br/>
<br/>
Would it be a kindness to find the words that would break her, to shatter her in such a way that Angela would never return? Was it selfish to try and keep her here in the battered body that would only face more abuse? Should he just kill her now and guarantee her torment would end?<br/>
<br/>
Before he could decide, Angela composed herself. Gabriel watched as her head lifted, and her eyes raised to take him in. Then, her eyes slid away and became unfocused and glassy as her mind escaped once more. He didn’t have any of the tools that were normally used to bring her down - and Gabriel doubted he could use them even if they were here.<br/>
<br/>
The Reaper was disgusted at Gabriel’s weakness.<br/>
<br/>
“Angela!” Gabriel called, nearly a shout. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t have any effect on the woman. He rose and crossed the distance quickly, trying to figure out how to pull her back down. He’d always been able to bring her out of her memories when they became too much, but he wasn’t sure he could bring her back when <em>reality</em> was too much.<br/>
<br/>
“Angela, <em>cariño</em>, come back.” He crooned as he kneeled before her, not even wincing as the icy water soaked his pants. Angela’s breathing had evened, and her body had relaxed enough that she was almost falling over. Gabriel grabbed her arms, steadying and straightening her, but her eyes remained unfocused.<br/>
<br/>
He took a steadying breath and then shook her in a violent, whole-body movement. Gabriel knew it would be excruciating for her, should it bring her back - but it was the only recourse he had besides laying her down and walking away.<br/>
<br/>
He wasn’t ready to walk away from her.<br/>
<br/>
Angela whined, a pitiful keening noise, as she came back to life in his arms. Her eyes fluttered shut as she trembled from the pain. A minute later, Angela realized she was making the pained noise and completely suppressed it, prideful even in her pain. It wasn’t long after that her eyes opened, not even noticing the tears that escaped, and darted towards the corner that had enraptured her.<br/>
<br/>
He would not let her go so easily. Gabriel tightened his hands, ready to pull her down again, but her eyes flew back to his mask before he could do anything.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you still with me?” The words escaped him before he could stop them. This was an all too familiar scenario from a time long destroyed by his hands. He had no right to use that phrase - it was too intimate for the enemies that they were supposed to be, for the<em> monster</em> he was supposed to be. And yet, he couldn’t help but search her face as he always had, looking for the tells that would reveal her deepest truths.<br/>
<br/>
“I - I am.” Angela stumbled over the words, the response just as ingrained in her as his question was in him. “For now.” There was a plea in the final phrase, one that had never existed before this room. Until this room, ‘for now’ was the assurance that she was with him in the moment - but never promising the future.<br/>
<br/>
Angela was always careful with her promises, with her words. Actions may speak louder than words - but she intended for <em>her</em> words to match her actions as often as possible; always, if she had her way, but even she wasn’t perfect. Angela never wanted anyone to doubt her for <em>any</em> reason - and so she measured her words carefully to ensure she didn’t offer something she couldn’t give.<br/>
<br/>
Not even for him would she break that habit. Even back then, she had been too realistic - too cynical - to believe that they would have a happy ending.<br/>
<br/>
Now, her ‘for now’ was a hope for an end. She had lost hope for any other form of escape; they all knew no one would find her before it was too late. It was unsurprising, considering the pain she was suffering - and they both knew this could only end one way.<br/>
<br/>
She just wanted the ending to come <em>now</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel’s hands clenched, forgetting that his fingers were tipped with claws, at the thought of her death. He didn’t want her dead - had <em>never</em> wanted her dead, not even in his worst fantasies. That had always been the Reapers desire, not Gabriel’s.<br/>
<br/>
It had never mattered before as it did now, when he had no control over the outcome.<br/>
<br/>
“How did it come to this, <em>liebling</em>?” The words were so quiet that, had he not been so close to her, he would never have been able to hear them. Then she went limp in his grasp, allowing herself to press against him with such familiarity that the Reaper stiffened in rage, claws now digging deep enough to draw blood.<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel and the Reaper fought over the decision of what to do with Angela, who hadn’t moved despite the danger he <em>knew</em> she was aware of. After a few moments, the Reaper won and shoved the woman back in disgust. He was on his feet and rushing for the door before there could be any further debate over his - <em>their</em> - actions.</p><p>---<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The target was high profile, which was why Talon had decided that he, Widowmaker, and Sombra would form the strike team. Their only support was the pilot flying them from Oasis, Iraq to St. Petersburg, Russia.<br/>
<br/>
Widowmaker was methodically taking her sniper rifle apart to polish it before she would put it all back together again, as was her routine. She had barely glanced up when he had stormed onto the plane; he wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t care or if she didn’t want to get involved. It was always hard to tell with her.<br/>
<br/>
Sombra had completely ignored him. The Reaper didn’t know if it was because of the callous words said in the observation room or if it was because she was distracted with whatever - or whoever - it was she was currently researching - <em>hacking</em> - on her holoscreens. She had started with three, but now there were seven; her eyes darted among them as she typed and slashed her fingers across them.<br/>
<br/>
He had leaned back and <em>tried</em> to sleep, as he usually did, but all he could think about was <em>her</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Damn that woman. The Reaper <em>hated</em> the effect that Angela had on them.<br/>
<br/>
Oh, he loved the rage he had felt at the sight of her, the pleasure her pain had brought him - but that, apparently, had diminishing returns. The Reaper still hated her, loathed her for what she had done to him. But no longer did he enjoy her torment as he had in those first days.<br/>
<br/>
He knew that she hadn’t experienced <em>nearly</em> enough to atone for what she had done, but what was the point if there was no pleasure in it? Her blood, her screams, her pleas - over time, it had become <em>nothing</em> to him.<br/>
<br/>
No, it had become <em>worse</em> than nothing.<br/>
<br/>
The bleeding heart that was Gabriel was spreading, infecting him. What was once a passive observer was now an active participant once more, as it had been in the beginning. The Reaper had won then, when Gabriel had grown tired and could no longer tolerate the blood necessary to soothe his agony.<br/>
<br/>
Now, because of <em>her</em>, the balance was shifting once more.<br/>
<br/>
They had agreed when she had first been captured: Angela deserved pain after the years of agony she had forced upon him. More quickly than the Reaper, however, Gabriel had lost his taste for the torture of the blonde angel - had lost his hatred altogether, considering the pity and guilt he felt over her pain.<br/>
<br/>
It was unsurprising, really; the Reaper really should have known better. He had let his greed blind him.<br/>
<br/>
It hadn’t been an accident that the Reaper had avoided cities - entire <em>countries</em>, if possible - that Angela lived in. Media was harder to avoid, but it was made easier by the fact that she had done her best to stay out of the news whenever possible.<br/>
<br/>
Blood and death strengthened the Reaper. He had been born in the destruction of the Zürich base, forced into life by that caged angel they had left behind in Oasis base. He had taken in the pain and the rage, the blood and the death, and had come roaring into being. As their existence began to revolve around those things that Gabriel had once stood against, the Reaper became stronger.<br/>
<br/>
But Angela changed that - had <em>always</em> changed that.<br/>
<br/>
For years, all he had been was merciless rage and endless hunger, his bloodlust leaving innumerable bodies in his wake. The Reaper had fostered a deep rage for the woman that had created him. Not even the parts that were Gabriel, the parts that loved the blonde doctor, had been able to temper that fury.<br/>
<br/>
He had fantasized about all the ways to take apart Angela, to make her regret ever bringing him back. To make <em>her</em> beg for death, just as Gabriel had in the moments before the Reaper had been born.<br/>
<br/>
It would have been - <em>had been</em> - so easy to capture her; her friends - ‘protectors’ - were nowhere to be seen, and her personal defenses were laughable at best. He would have reveled in her agony and painted the walls red with her blood. He could have shown the world what happens when you create a monster.<br/>
<br/>
But he didn’t. Couldn’t.<br/>
<br/>
He had gone to find her nearly a year after the destruction. The Reaper wanted to tear out her throat, to destroy the light that had dragged him back from death. Until they had laid eyes on the blonde, Gabriel had been an apathetic partner. Upon seeing her, however, Gabriel had dug his heels in.<br/>
<br/>
While the Reaper <em>knew</em> Gabriel had felt hatred towards the doctor in the abstract, he knew that he also harbored love. She had ignored his pleas for death and left him to live in agony, and <em>still,</em> he wanted her - but the Reaper knew it was more than that.<br/>
<br/>
Even if he didn’t love her, that woman was the embodiment of Gabriel’s past life: of Overwatch and the defense of the innocent. As Mercy, with those glowing wings, she had become a symbol for the organization. The sight of her was a reminder of everything he <em>had</em> been, everything he <em>should</em> be. It was enough to drown his hatred in the guilt and blood of the innocents they had killed to stay alive.<br/>
<br/>
She was their <em>corazón</em>, their <em>heart</em>. For as long as she lived, so would the parts that were Gabriel.<br/>
<br/>
The Reaper knew that he could rid himself of Gabriel by slaying the woman. It would be a stronger blow if it were at their hands, but the Reaper was confident that just her death would be enough. Despite the strength she displayed in her cage, he knew that she was fragile - now more than ever. She would be a quick, easy kill for a murderer like him.<br/>
<br/>
But, all those years ago, the Reaper had let her - and Gabriel - live. He had avoided her, erased her from their life as much as possible. It was a decision that he should have questioned, yet never did.<br/>
<br/>
Was Gabriel, deep in their shared mind and soul, protecting her from him? Was the Reaper protecting her from himself? Was he afraid to be alone in his head, to have nothing to temper his bloodlust and rage?<br/>
<br/>
Did he <em>want</em> to keep those gentler parts that were wholly Gabriel?<br/>
<br/>
And if he did, what did that mean for them now that Angela was captured?
</p>
<hr/><p>They had done just about everything imaginable to her body.<br/>
<br/>
At least, she thought they had. They could probably dream up a thousand more horrors to inflict upon her. Angela was never an expert in torture, even if she <em>was</em> an expert on the human body. She knew in excruciating detail how to put someone back together - and <em>exactly</em> how they were taking her apart.<br/>
<br/>
Still, they hadn’t gotten her to tell them <em>anything</em>.<br/>
<br/>
A few times, she had snarled, snapping and telling them <em>exactly</em> where they could put their questions in a variety of languages. More recently, though, they had gotten the proud, cold Dr. Angela Ziegler to beg brokenly for them to stop - and then to please, <em>please</em> end it.<br/>
<br/>
Honestly, she didn’t know why they continued to come to her for information on Overwatch. The medical research made sense - she was one of the leading scientists, after all - but surely they could find another source on Overwatch.<br/>
<br/>
God.<br/>
<br/>
Had she really wished <em>this</em> upon someone else? <em>No one</em> should experience what she had in this room. Every moment they spent with her meant that was one moment less that was being spent searching for an <em>alternative</em> information source. Even if the pain was horrible - and it <em>was</em> - and even if it was tearing her apart in every way imaginable, she should <em>never</em> wish this on someone else.<br/>
<br/>
And yet she had. Oh, how she wanted out of this room.<br/>
<br/>
Angela knew there was only one way for her to leave - in a body bag - but it was how she reached it that mattered. Would that last victory be hers or theirs? Would she take their information to the grave, or would they manage to pry it out of her?<br/>
<br/>
She was determined to win this final war.<br/>
<br/>
<em>This</em> was all she was good for anymore, after all - all she had <em>ever</em> been good for. It had been her duty to serve in the field, taking bullets in her Valkyrie suit so that the agents under her care would be safe and putting them back together when she failed. It had been her responsibility to guide Overwatch in its final hours, to protect what had remained from public - and political - scrutiny.<br/>
<br/>
It was her <em>honor</em> to bleed for them now. Angela was the last shield Overwatch - the true Overwatch, <em>her</em> Overwatch - had left.<br/>
<br/>
And she wanted someone <em>else</em> to take the burden?<br/>
<br/>
How could she try to pass this off to someone else? What if it wasn’t one of her agents - who were important to her, who she had <em>mourned</em> when the KIA reports crossed her desk - but one of her <em>family</em>?<br/>
<br/>
What if they put those irons to Lena? What if they strung up McCree, whipped him raw like she was?<br/>
<br/>
Gabriel - <em>Reaper</em> - knew <em>exactly</em> how to break her; what if he was out there, right now, hunting one of them? What would she do if they brought someone <em>else</em> into this bloody room? Could she sit by and watch them abuse someone else?<br/>
<br/>
What kind of person would that make her if she could?<br/>
<br/>
Could she refuse to answer, knowing they would take her denials out on someone else? If to give in was to save someone else - not her, <em>never</em> her, she was going to <em>die</em> here - in exchange for betraying everyone else under her protection?<br/>
<br/>
What kind of person would that make her if she <em>couldn’t</em>?<br/>
<br/>
Angela could only pray that she died before she ever had to make that impossible decision.

</p><p>/&gt;</p><p>Jack had been in Mexico, looking into the criminal group Los Muertos, when news of Angela’s capture had been broadcast across the world over three weeks ago. He hadn’t even considered ignoring the call to arms; Angela had done too much for him - for the world - to leave missing.<br/>
<br/>
From what he had gathered, there were no actual suspects. Jack believed, considering the recall from Winston - that he had not planned to answer - that it was one of the terrorist organizations that Overwatch had stood against years ago.<br/>
<br/>
Angela would make for a great hostage to use against the rising organization, after all.<br/>
<br/>
Since he was already in the backyard of one of the terrorist groups, he had decided to continue his efforts against the Mexican gang. He had been picking off gang members for the past few weeks, working his way through the ranks to gather information.<br/>
<br/>
After his ‘research,’ Jack was nearly positive that this gang wasn’t holding Angela - and he was going to confirm it tonight. He headed towards a major operative base for Los Muertos, the address kindly provided by one of their members the night before.<br/>
<br/>
However, he wasn’t the only one that had this idea.<br/>
<br/>
Jack arrived to find Jesse McCree in the middle of a firefight. Ten gangsters pinned down the cowboy and, while McCree was impressive in a fight, even he was struggling against those odds. Jack gritted his teeth; he hadn’t wanted to make contact with Overwatch like this - but he couldn’t just leave McCree to his fate.<br/>
<br/>
The old soldier dropped his visor into place and pulled out his helix rifle.<br/>
<br/>
He had the element of surprise, shooting from a side alley with a dumpster for cover. Jack had clipped two of them before they returned fire. The cowboy had turned slightly, eyes wide under his hat, but had accepted his help. There wasn’t time for questions when the bullets were flying, after all.<br/>
<br/>
Between his rifle and McCree’s Peacekeeper, the gangsters were soon retreating with their wounded. Of the ten that had been in their group, they had killed three. McCree looked around - and the blood and the bodies - and kicked at a nearby bottle.<br/>
<br/>
“Damn it!” Jack wondered if the cowboy had stumbled upon this location by accident and had been looking to get information from the gangsters. McCree turned, Peacekeeper still in hand, to regard Jack.<br/>
<br/>
“‘preciate th’ help,” he drawled. There was a hard wariness in his eyes, a look Jack was well familiar with. McCree had regarded everyone with that look when he had first come into Overwatch. Jack had thought Overwatch had cured him of it, but it seemed he was mistaken.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s no problem.” Jack rested the rifle over one shoulder casually, watching him just as warily through his visor. He had no intention of attacking the cowboy - they were on the same side, after all - but until he put away Peacekeeper, Jack was unwilling to part with his gun.<br/>
<br/>
Then again, Jack didn’t know anyone that could draw their weapon faster than McCree. Perhaps he should keep his rifle in hand the entire time.<br/>
<br/>
“Now, why’s a guy like <em>you</em> creepin’ round these parts?” Jack wasn’t surprised that McCree recognized him - or, at least, recognized the person wanted by the media. Soldier: 76 had a bounty that was slowly creeping to be as high as McCree’s.<br/>
<br/>
The soldier considered the man before him. He could make some excuse and come back on a different night, avoid the discovery altogether. But after the fight here in the alleyway - plus his systematic attacks against the gang - Los Muertos would be on high alert. Maybe teaming up, at least for the night, wasn’t the worst idea.<br/>
<br/>
“Probably the same reason you are.” Jack rumbled, letting his rifle drop from his shoulder to hang limply at his side. McCree scoffed.<br/>
<br/>
“Ya don’ know th’ first thing ‘bout me.” The soldier’s mouth twisted into a wry grin under the mask. If only he knew.<br/>
<br/>
“I know enough,” Jack responded grimly. “You’re looking for Dr. Ziegler.” McCree’s hand tightened on Peacekeeper, his free hand hovering near his waist where Jack knew he kept his flashbangs.<br/>
<br/>
“An’ jus’ what would you know ‘bout <em>her</em>?” If the cowboy had looked dangerous before, now he was downright murderous. It was an effort to keep from lifting his rifle defensively; with how on edge McCree was, Jack was sure he’d shoot first and worry about the question later.<br/>
<br/>
“She helped me, a long time ago.” It was more than that, of course - but he couldn’t tell McCree any of it without revealing who he <em>really</em> was. “I owe her. Trying to find her is the least I could do.”<br/>
<br/>
“Right.” McCree made a disbelieving noise. “Outta th’ goodness of your heart, o’course.” Jack had forgotten how cynical McCree was - how cynical they <em>all</em> were. It was impossible to be an optimist, a dreamer that expected the best of the world, when all you ever saw was the worst.<br/>
<br/>
“I said I owe her,” Jack growled back. “She’s important to a lot of people.” McCree made that noise again, and Jack rolled his eyes. He understood the reluctance, but there was no time for this. Jack cut his free hand through the air.<br/>
<br/>
“Look: there’s an operations base near here; it’s where I was going when I found you.” Jack extended the information as a peace offering, a white flag he hoped McCree would take. “It’s the only place left that Los Muertos could hide her.”<br/>
<br/>
“And I’m jus’ s’pposed t’trust you.” It wasn’t a question.<br/>
<br/>
“You don’t have to do anything.” Jack corrected, turning away from the cowboy and his still threatening Peacekeeper. He was confident that McCree wouldn’t shoot him in the back, not with that bait dangling before him. “Come or don’t, but I’m going.”<br/>
<br/>
Jack had made it about halfway down the alley before he heard a sigh and the clink of spurs as McCree followed him.

</p><p>---</p><p>

As Jack had expected, Angela wasn’t being held by Los Muertos - but it always paid to be certain. Now, McCree was tailing him doggedly through the alleyways, trying to figure out who he was - besides the notorious Soldier: 76 - and why he’d want to help Angela.<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” The old soldier had growled, finally stopping behind a defunct restaurant. Now that he had accomplished his task here in Dorado, Jack was planning to leave the city. He was planning to head towards the Middle East; there was a bounty hunter he wanted to investigate and, if the information Jack had was correct, there should be a Talon base somewhere in the area that he could tear apart in the search for Angela.<br/>
<br/>
Despite his respect for McCree’s abilities, Jack had no interest in teaming up with him in the long term. He was an old soldier, bouncing from one war to the next. McCree was still young - even if he had been forced to grow up far too fast. There was no place for the cowboy at his side, not anymore.<br/>
<br/>
“Naw, not at th’ moment.” The cowboy drawled lazily, not at all phased by Jack’s tone. When he’d glanced back, he found McCree regarding him with hard brown eyes and one hand on his holstered Peacekeeper.<br/>
<br/>
Just because they’d forged a temporary truce hadn’t made them allies, after all - at least, not to McCree.<br/>
<br/>
“Why does it matter?” Jack finally growled. “You should take any help you can get.” After all, Angela had been missing for nearly a month. They shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.<br/>
<br/>
“An’ what happens when ya find her?” McCree demanded. “Gonna ransom her yourself? Try t’ get rid o’ your bounty?” Jack couldn’t care less about the - well deserved - bounty on his head. The only difficulty it gave him was travel - but, considering the world believed him to be dead, travel had already been difficult.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not doing this for money.” The soldier returned; his old self would have been offended at the idea. This new self was more pragmatic - it would be a good idea that any <em>other</em> criminal would jump upon.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah. You’re doin’ it ‘cause you’re such an upstandin’ citizen an’ all.” McCree deadpanned back. He shifted his weight, his cybernetic left-hand hooking into one of his belt loops - his right was still on his gun. “Gimmie one good reason I shouldn’ put a bullet in ya.” Jack rolled his eyes behind his visor.<br/>
<br/>
"Because we’re on the same side.” Jesse did not look convinced in the slightest; Jack wasn’t sure why he’d thought those words would work. “I told you: I owe her. She saved my life.” Jesse still wasn’t budging, so Jack elaborated on that thought. “She took a bullet that was meant for me - and then patched me up as if it were nothing.” The edges of Jesse’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile at the reminder of how Angela had been - <em>was</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“That sounds like the Ange I know.” Jesse conceded. “Never could take care o’ herself when there was someone else needin’ her help.” He sighed, hand sliding off Peacekeeper. “Fine. <em>Fine</em>. How’re we gonna know if ya find her?”<br/>
<br/>
“Trust me: you’ll know.” Jack turned and walked away. This time, Jesse let him.

 /&gt;

</p><p><em>In this life there's no surrender </em><br/>
There's nothing left for us to do<br/>
Find the strength to see this through<br/><br/>
- Soldiers [Otherwise]<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh look, I'm not actually dead!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Act V: Preserving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I have nothing left to give,<br/>
I have found the perfect end.<br/>
- Dear Agony [Breaking Benjamin]</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>A pair of boots stomped towards her. After a moment, she was dumped unceremoniously on the ground; she whimpered as her knee struck the concrete and she sprawled out. Angela looked up quickly, though, for the food and water they always placed out for her. She didn’t want them to force it upon her because she was too slow.</p><p>Instead of sustenance, she was yanked up onto her knees by the man. She struggled weakly, trying to take the pressure off her broken knee, but it was a wasted effort. The constant grinding noise turned off - perhaps for their sanity because it certainly wasn’t for hers.</p><p>Panting, she wondered what new hell they had in store for her. The man restraining her yanked her head back from its bowed position as two other men came into the room. There were always three when they interrogated her.</p><p>The distinctive sound of a pistol slide racking filled the silent room.</p><p>Finally. They were finally going to put her out of her misery. Relief filled her, chasing away the pain from her knee and the lasting agony that her body was always in. She had won. They had decided to cut their losses and get rid of her.</p><p>The gunman moved forward and slammed the barrel of the pistol against her head hard. If it weren’t for the restrainer gripping her hair tightly, her head would have been shoved aside. With the brace, she imagined there would be a nasty bruise.</p><p>But what did bruises matter when she would be dead soon?</p><p>“This is your last chance.” The third man spoke - of the trio, he was the only one who ever spoke to her. “Answer the questions, or you <em>will</em> die.” He thought it was a threat, but, in reality, it was the sweetest promise she had ever heard. An escape from <em>this</em>? He couldn’t have better guaranteed her continued silence.</p><p>“Who will answer the recall?” It always started there - with the questions <em>he</em> understood. While he had gotten better at asking the more technical questions, she knew he still had absolutely no idea what he was saying. “Lena Oxton?” Silence. “Victor Daigneau?” Angela focused her gaze on the pistol, on the promise. “Torbjörn Lindholm?”</p><p>The names brought a flicker of something - guilt? Shame? Grief? - she wasn’t sure. If she died here, what would happen to the ones she left behind? What would happen when they found her broken body wherever Talon dumped her - <em>if</em> Talon dumped her?</p><p>But they hadn’t found her, hadn’t saved her from this room. All she wanted was <em>out</em>.</p><p>The pistol was removed, and she nearly cried for the loss of that gift. Then it was slamming back into her, startling a cry out of her. Blood filled her mouth as her teeth tore into her lip.</p><p>“Where will they go, now that they have cleared out Watchpoint: Gibraltar?” She kept silent. Angela hadn’t even known they <em>had</em> left that Watchpoint until he told her just now. How would she know where they went?</p><p>She had loved it when she visited that Watchpoint. Oh, her purpose was nearly always for something horrible - usually an emergency surgery or a response to a strike injury - but those brief periods before she left?</p><p>It was beautiful there; it was unfortunate that Overwatch - this new, rough version of it - had given it up. Angela wished she had gone out to visit Winston more, regretted that she hadn’t seen it in years. She’d always thought there was more time. More time to create and heal, to fix the broken of the world. More time to see her friends; there was always next year, after all - until next year didn’t come.</p><p>Angela really should have known better.</p><p>“Perhaps, Dr. Ziegler, you do not believe we will kill you.” Oh, no - quite the opposite. She was <em>praying</em> for it. Even with the misgivings that were rising, tickling at the back of her mind, she wanted it. Death was the only escape left for her.</p><p>The gun was pulled away again as the gunman pointed it towards the far wall. The gunshot was far too loud for the space, leaving her ears ringing and her eyes watering.</p><p>She had dealt with death all her life. First, her parents had died in the Omnic Crisis. Next, she had chosen her path as a doctor - before, during, and after Overwatch. Then again, when she had served in the field as a combat medic. Finally, when she had been locked into this room.</p><p>She had faced her mortality often with Overwatch, and less so since the fall. Angela had been forced to realize it again upon her capture: now, death was a certainty instead of a distant possibility. She wasn’t afraid to die; she had come to terms with that days - weeks? Time was a blur here - ago. Death was easy - but living? Living was <em>hard</em>, especially here.</p><p>Faintly, she heard the slide being racked again before the warm barrel was pressed against her temple again.</p><p>Angela heard the speaker demand something, but she couldn’t understand the words over the ringing of the gunshot and the rushing of her blood. The barrel dug into her temple harder; the question repeated as she tried to focus.</p><p>“Last chance, doctor.” The speaker growled. “Explain how your nanites give you the ability to replicate the DNA and RNA in others.” It had been her crowning achievement: unlike Jack and Gabriel, whose bodies had been modified to regenerate from most wounds slowly, her nanites also allowed her to heal the bodies of others if she chose. Apparently, it was also part of how Gabriel was still alive.</p><p>Angela gritted her teeth. She would stay silent; it was all she had left. Her chin lifted defiantly. She didn’t know if it was resolution or defeat that fueled her as she stared defiantly up at the speaker.</p><p>All she knew was that this was the last stand for Mercy, her final act.</p><p>The speaker nodded at the gunman. The barrel pressed into her temple painfully, and then the trigger was pulled.</p><p><em>Click</em>.</p><p>Angela sucked in a shaky breath as her heart skipped a beat before pounding painfully, head dropping limply as her restrainer released her head. She should be dead. They were going to kill her - there was a <em>bullet</em> in there; they <em>proved</em> it - she had made her peace - they put a <em>gun</em> to her <em>head</em> - she was supposed to be <em>dead</em>.</p><p>Hard, cruel hands grabbed her face, fingers pressing too hard on her cheeks and forcing her head back until it was painful.</p><p>“Did you <em>honestly</em> think we would let you go so easily?” The taunting whisper wrapped around her heart and <em>squeezed</em> until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t <em>think</em>.</p><p>She was supposed to be <em>free</em>. Free of the pain and anguish that had been her life since she had been taken from Cairo. It was supposed to be an escape, a <em>relief</em> - and now it was more agonizing than her shattered knee.</p><p>They were <em>supposed</em> to kill her.</p><p>She had been ready, <em>more</em> than ready - she had given up entirely, was prepared to abandon her cause and all those she protected. And they <em>let her live</em>. How was she supposed to continue living after <em>that</em>? How could she live with <em>herself</em>?</p><p>Angela was breathing too fast, her eyes unseeing as she stared up at nothing. She barely felt it when both men released her, allowing her to slump sideways to the floor into the ever-present puddle. For once, they didn’t douse her with water before they left - not that she was in any state to have noticed one way or the other.</p><p>---</p><p>She had no idea how long she had laid there. They hadn’t brought her food, nor had they thrown water on her. Angela had just sprawled there, body aching from the awkward, twisted position she had fallen in - but she couldn’t seem to muster the energy to move. To do anything more than breathe.</p><p>Angela wished her one of her friends would come to her, would tell her she would be alright - that she was <em>strong</em> - but none had appeared. Why would they? They had abandoned her as she had abandoned them; she couldn’t blame them for that.</p><p>Without a thought for the consequences, she had prayed for death. All she wanted was for the pain - all-encompassing and ever-present - to <em>stop</em>. Angela wasn’t strong like this, didn’t <em>want</em> to be strong like this. She wasn’t Jack or Jesse or Reinhardt. She wasn’t Ana. She was just Angela.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>When had she stopped being Dr. Ziegler - being Mercy? When had she become ‘just’ Angela? Did it matter when Dr. Ziegler was <em>dead,</em> and all that was left behind was the soft, emotional parts that were Angela?</p><p>‘Easy’ wasn’t in Dr. Ziegler’s vocabulary. She had <em>never</em> backed down from a fight, <em>never</em> given an inch when she <em>knew</em> she was in the right - no matter how hard, Dr. Ziegler did what she believed was best. Just because it was easy didn’t make it right; that had been one of her favorite quotes.</p><p>But <em>easy</em>, oh - ‘easy’ was in Angela’s vocabulary. Easy was what Angela was good at. She was all too willing to let her emotions overwhelm her, to let her feelings blind her. She felt too much, <em>remembered</em> too much, and shook from the weight of it all. If it hadn’t been for the cold, hard parts that were Dr. Ziegler, Angela never could have survived Ana’s death, Jack’s death, Gabr-</p><p>She couldn’t finish that line of thought, not here and now.</p><p>It was Angela who was left quivering in this room; Dr. Ziegler was killed when they pulled that trigger. With her had gone her support - because they didn’t support <em>Angela</em>. She was useless, <em>nothing</em> - it should have been <em>Angela</em> that had died instead of Dr. Ziegler.</p><p>Angela wept, curled there on the ground. Grieved for everything she had lost - her dignity, her strength, her <em>self</em>, but <em>not</em> her life. Sobbed for those she had betrayed and abandoned, for whom she bled for in this bright, loud room.</p><p>Without the strength of Dr. Ziegler and the resolve of Mercy, without the support of her friends, Angela didn’t know how she would survive the next time those men came to her. She didn’t know if she could take their abuse and remain silent, to keep the oath that had been sworn by someone stronger, <em>better</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>The mission had been an utter failure. Gabriel didn’t care about how the mission went, though it frustrated him that it had been a waste of his time. Time away from the base, from watching Angela and trying to figure out what - if anything - he would do. Once they landed, he had stalked through the base until he was looking in on Angela, drawn like a moth to a flame.</p><p>She looked hollow - like a shell of herself.</p><p>Angela wasn’t being worked on right now, wasn’t even hanging from the chains. She was limp, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She didn’t seem to care that the way she was lying left most of her body on display to the window he was looking through. Before he had left, she had been willing to spend the energy to turn her back; now, she was no longer willing - or able - to make such an effort.</p><p>What had been done to her that had destroyed that?</p><p>Gabriel was familiar with torture; he knew there was <em>plenty</em> that would make her look and act like this. He had known it was only a matter of time before they broke her, shattered like a glass thrown to the floor. But after her stubborn refusal to bend, her defiance despite the excruciating pain she was experiencing, he had thought she wouldn’t break. Had thought she could pull off one last miracle.</p><p>Foolish. The Reaper was a walking testament to the curse that was Angela’s ‘miracles.’</p><p>Disgusted, Gabriel spun away and went to his office. He would see what they had done, how she had been broken. He would read the reports and see what her progress was - and what was still yet to come.</p><p>---</p><p>“Yeah, boss?” He <em>hated</em> the thought of asking anyone for help, but there was no way around it. Sombra <em>was</em> the electronic security in this base; if he wanted to get out, he needed her on his side. He was taking a risk by coming to her, but she had seemed sympathetic towards the doctor the last time they had been in the observation room.</p><p>“We need to talk.” The woman was practically hanging on her doorknob, hazel eyes peering up at him as she kept her body - and the door - between him and her sanctum. Frustration crossed her face as she stepped out fully, arms crossing.</p><p>“Is it about the mission? ’Cause, <em>seriously</em>, I’ve only apologized like - a thousand times. I scr-” Gabriel held up a clawed hand, trying to stop her before she started into an unstoppable tirade.</p><p>“Here.” He offered her a page. Scrawled on it was a request for a secure space to speak - he <em>knew</em> she had to have a place where no one could watch what she got into. He was pretty sure it was behind that door, but he’d been wrong before.</p><p>Sombra read the paper, taking <em>far</em> too long for the handful of words that had been written there, before looking up at him with one eyebrow raised. He crossed his arms in return, glaring down at her from behind his mask.</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>.” Sombra sighed, making a big show of rolling her eyes and tossing her arms dramatically. “<em>No es como si tuviera algo </em>mejor<em> que hacer,</em>1” she muttered irritably as she turned back into her room. Gabriel followed, closing the door behind them.</p><p>He had never seen this room, but he honestly couldn’t say he was surprised by most of what was in here.</p><p>Tucked in a corner was an untidy bed with what looked like a handheld computer - or maybe a video game device - left carelessly on top of a pillow and a stuffed animal peeking out from under the blanket. One door, farther in, was left slightly ajar to show a closet filled with clothes of all colors: for a woman built around stealth, she certainly had a vibrant selection.</p><p>Most of the room, however, was taken up by screens of all sizes. There were news stations from across the world, what looked like the stock market, the security feeds for the base, and screens of various lines of text that Gabriel couldn’t discern in the few seconds he could see them. Sombra hit a few buttons, darkening all of the screens, before turning to lean against her impressively large desk.</p><p>“So.” Sombra gestured vaguely with one hand. “You wanted to talk.” She fixed him with a look. “Talk.” Gabriel stepped farther into the room, worried about someone overhearing from the hall.</p><p>“It’s secure?” He growled. He hadn’t seen her <em>do</em> anything, but maybe she always hid what she was doing in this room. There weren’t cameras, of course, but he was almost positive that every room was littered with microphones to catch <em>precisely</em> the kind of thing he was trying to talk about.</p><p>“Of <em>course</em> it’s secure.” She rolled her eyes before turning to drop into a rolling chair. One leg hooked over the other as she leaned back with her arms crossed once more. “Who do you take me for?” Gabriel sighed.</p><p>“Fine.” Here it was, his last chance to back out. The opportunity to <em>stop</em> before this foolhardy plan got him - or <em>her</em> - killed. Did he <em>really</em> want to do this? Risk his life for the woman that he had condemned? Who <em>feared</em> him? Who might not even be <em>alive</em> - not in the way it mattered - anymore?</p><p>Gabriel wanted it; guilt and shame for the promises he had broken and the pain Angela had experienced drove him to save whatever was left of her. He couldn’t make it right - <em>nothing</em> could ever make what he had done right - but he could try to make it better.</p><p>The Reaper thought it was foolish; they were burning bridges over the woman that had cursed them? She didn’t deserve rescue after everything she had done to them. But, he had come to realize, there was no pleasure in her torture - there was nothing but apathy and a growing stress from the parts that were Gabriel.</p><p>Gabriel was as important, as intrinsic, to their consciousness as the Reaper was. His cool head tempered the hazy bloodlust; Gabriel was the tactician, and the Reaper was the soldier. They were a team - for better or for worse. To keep Gabriel, Angela had to be saved - so that was what they would do.</p><p>“I want to get Angela out.” There was no going back now; the words couldn’t be unsaid. Sombra made an incredulous noise.</p><p>“What happened to ‘she deserves it’?” Sombra lowered her voice on the quote in a mockery of his own. “What happened to the cold-hearted bastard that put her in there, <em>twice</em>?” He crossed the space to thrust another set of papers at her.</p><p>“This.” Sombra took the papers. She read through them far more quickly than she had his one-line note - she never missed a chance to let a person squirm. Sombra flipped through them, paling slightly once she got to the last page. When she looked back up at him, however, she was completely cool again.</p><p>“When is this supposed to happen?” She gestured down at the final page. The first pages had been what Angela had been through in the past week, culminating with the threat of her execution yesterday. They’d been in once since then, but she had been so unresponsive that they had spent barely any time with her.</p><p>However, that final page detailed the tentative timeline of interrogation and the tools and methods to be used in each session. The next few days were littered with what had become her usual - drowning and whipping and burning - assuming that they would find her responsive. There was a note, ended with a question mark, about using a gun again; that, it seemed, was still undecided.</p><p>If it were anyone else, Gabriel would have told them to use it. He knew that they, too, would come to that conclusion in time – when it came to their trade, they were experts after all.</p><p>Towards the middle of the following week, they planned to escalate again if she still refused to break. They hadn’t decided which method they would go to next: rape or dismemberment. Either was horrific - would be just as devastating as the mock execution she had experienced. He didn’t think Angela would survive either of them.</p><p>Gabriel wasn’t sure she had survived the last one.</p><p>“Wednesday. Thursday, at the latest - as long as they keep to that schedule.” Sometimes plans were moved up - or pushed back. These reports weren’t set in stone by any means; they were more like a guide and a way to cover their asses should an interrogation end badly. Sombra read over the page again, as if a closer look would change the text. Then, she looked up at him once more.</p><p>“You <em>sure</em> you want to do this?” Gabriel had seen the look on her face before she had hidden it away; Sombra wanted Angela out, too. This woman, who had seen the worst that humanity had to offer to use as blackmail, didn’t want Angela to die, either.</p><p>“I’m sure.” If he - they - didn’t act now, there would be nothing left of Angela to save.</p><p>“Alright then.” Sombra nodded after a moment, offering the papers back to him. “Take this,” she held out a comm unit, “and get out. I need to get some things together.”</p><p>Gabriel hesitated for only a moment before accepting the papers and comm; there was no going back now. He had preparations of his own that needed to be made. At least, with Sombra on his side, he didn’t have to worry as much about being watched.</p><p>---</p><p>With the little comm unit she had given him - plus some help from her while she was invisible - she had walked Gabriel through the setup of what would ‘disable’ the cameras and hide their escape for as long as possible. Honestly, it would be Sombra that would take care of the security, but - since she wasn’t quite ready to leave Talon - they had to make it look like it was all him.</p><p>Most of it was familiar - he’d run plenty of covert ops both with Blackwatch and Talon - but having Sombra tell him where everything was made things run more smoothly.</p><p>He’d gone into the city of Oasis itself to steal supplies. They were mostly medical in nature, since stealing from the infirmary would be nearly impossible, but he had also gathered some food and clothing. They’d need more, but they would at least have something for the immediate days after the escape.</p><p>Sombra told him she was trying to find them a secure place for Angela to recover until Overwatch could be reached, but she wasn’t sure she could arrange it before he escaped with the doctor. Gabriel had to plan to steal a form of transportation - he couldn’t exactly sneak onto a bus or get a taxi with a bloody woman, after all - and figure out where to lay low.</p><p>Talon <em>would</em> come after him, after <em>her</em>. Angela was marked for death, had been marked since he had placed her in that cell. Once he took her, he would become a target, too. Gabriel wasn’t sure he <em>could</em> be killed, but he knew Talon would try. With Moira to help them, perhaps they would even be successful.</p><p>“Here you go, boss.” Sombra had appeared in the door of his office, a stack of papers in her hands. “I know, I know; I should have had this done <em>days</em> ago.” She offered them over. He reached out and found something hard underneath the paper; carefully, he accepted it all, mindful of the security he was trying to avoid.</p><p>“See ya later.” Sombra had wiggled her fingers at him and strutted out the door, giving no sign that she was up to anything. He palmed the item and tucked it into a pocket without looking at it; if Sombra thought it should be hidden, he’d keep it that way.</p><p>The second page of her report had been a scrawled explanation.</p><p>The comm unit would only work while he was in the base – once they were out, she wouldn’t be able to use that to reach him without the frequency being compromised. Instead, Sombra had procured a burner phone. He needed to always keep it on; once she had a safe house, she could call him with further instructions.</p><p>She also wrote that he owed her, <em>big</em>, for the risks she was taking for him. He had known there would be a price for her help - blackmail and extortion was what she was known for, after all. Gabriel didn’t care. He’d pay whatever price it was that Sombra demanded of him if it would get Angela out of this base.</p><p>But he knew that his debt wasn’t her real goal: no, that was just a bonus. She wanted Angela out, too. He had seen her face when she’d watched the interrogation and after she had read the reports; she was doing this for Angela.</p><p>It made no sense. Sombra had never met Angela, had never even <em>seen</em> her until the doctor was bound in chains. Sombra always twisted a situation to benefit herself - it was how she had bounced from Los Muertos to Talon, after all - with minimal, if <em>any</em>, regards to others.</p><p>Despite those facts, Sombra was willing to risk her position here with Talon to help the doctor escape. Gabriel had a hard time believing that Sombra was doing this purely out of the goodness of her heart. Perhaps she wanted the doctor in her debt - having a world-renowned doctor in her corner was nothing to sneeze at.</p><p>And, even now, with the shadow of Overwatch dogging her heels and making her life difficult, Angela was still one of the best doctors in the world. When she couldn’t continue her research, when working in a hospital was not enough, she had returned to her calling as a combat medic and emergency responder.</p><p>Angela had waded into war-torn countries and disaster zones without regard for her own safety, healing anything she could. It hadn’t mattered what side the injured was on; she simply put them back together because that was what she did best. It had been that altruism, mixed with her prodigal skills and sterling reputation, that had kept her safe until now.</p><p>Yes, a debt from Dr. Angela Ziegler, the woman who could <em>actually</em> defy death, would be no small thing.</p><p>Even knowing that Sombra was on their side - for whatever reasons - he hesitated to let her dictate where they went. Gabriel wasn’t sure that he had much choice in the matter, though. His nearest safe house was in Turkey, almost a thousand miles away. The Oasis base had been his safe house for this country - one of many things that would change in the coming days.</p><p>And it wasn’t like he could just book a hotel room or take Angela into a hospital. They had to find a place to lie low, where Talon couldn’t find them, while Gabriel found a way to contact Overwatch. He had a few ideas of where they may have gone, but that would take far more travel than Angela could take. She was too injured - too traumatized, broken - to be dragged across the globe on an international goose chase by the monstrous Reaper.</p><p>Instead, he’d have to contact them and arrange a meeting to return her to them for safekeeping. Until that time, he’d be forced to keep them on the move - somehow - while he tried to keep her alive.</p><p>Gabriel wasn’t sure if he’d ever been given a more impossible task.</p><p>---</p><p>Now that he had decided, he was impatient for action. He’d gone to the nearby airport and had stolen a car from the long-term parking lot. With Sombra’s help, he hadn’t even needed to break anything; he simply used the little gadget she had provided, and the locks just popped open.</p><p>Then he had gathered and packed supplies, tucking them in the stolen vehicle. Afterwards, he’d filled and repacked a small bag of absolute essentials - this would be the pack he carried with him through the entire escape. If, for whatever reason, he couldn’t reach the stolen car, they would still have some supplies.</p><p>They had decided that Sunday - today - would be the day he would break her out. A strike team was leaving this afternoon, and Angela would be worked on in the early evening. While Gabriel hated the thought of her experiencing <em>more</em> torture, he had to wait until shortly after they finished with her. By waiting until after they were done, he reduced the chances of her absence being immediately noticed - and with the strike team reducing the number of staff wandering around, it further reduced those chances.</p><p>Gabriel only hoped it wouldn’t be too late.</p><p>The comm unit was in place, hidden by the hood and mask he always wore. He had nowhere on his person to conceal the small pack of supplies, so he was putting off heading towards the armory - and his weapons, which <em>would</em> be necessary - until the last possible moment.</p><p>Then, it was time. Equipped with his shotguns, ammo tucked in the various pockets and pouches built for that express purpose, Gabriel strode through the halls of the Oasis base for what would probably be the last time. With Sombra whispering in his ear, it hadn’t been hard to avoid detection - especially when he used the same stairwell that Angela had used in her failed escape attempt.</p><p>This was when the challenge would truly begin. He had a device in his pocket, one fashioned by Sombra, that was supposed to ‘affect’ the cameras and keep him from being seen by whoever else was monitoring the security feeds. Sombra had assured him that she would take care of that - but he only had her word that they would be taken care of.</p><p>It could be an elaborate setup. Alone, the Reaper would be hard to capture - but carrying Angela? Gabriel wouldn’t be able to use his shadow form to escape bullets and travel through small spaces. This would be the best chance at neutralizing him unless he chose to drop and abandon her.</p><p>He had already done that once. Gabriel wasn’t planning to do it again. Squaring his shoulders, he let himself into her cell. For better or for worse, he had made his choice.</p>
<hr/><p>Footsteps. One pair.</p><p>The last time there had been one pair of footsteps, they had killed her - yet left her breathing, hollow, a shell of what she once had been. She couldn’t, she <em>couldn’t</em>, do that again. She was barely hanging on as it was; that would break her, she <em>knew</em> it.</p><p>Hadn’t they hurt her enough for one day? She was still dripping with blood and water from their treatment. They had broken her knee again, and the agony was still making her nauseous. She hadn’t been given enough time to recover - which, Angela dimly realized, was <em>precisely</em> the point.</p><p>She couldn’t break. That was a promise made by the woman they had killed. It was an impossibly heavy burden, dropped upon her because there was <em>no one</em> left, and Angela was left staggering and stumbling under its weight. They deserved better than her, but she was all that remained. </p><p>It had taken every ragged piece of her to keep from cracking.</p><p>Oh, she wanted to break - to spill every secret and truth that they wanted. It would be so <em>easy</em>. Angela wanted easy, <em>craved</em> easy; God, she just wanted <em>out</em>. And yet, every time the words were on the tip of her tongue, she somehow managed to swallow them down behind whimpers and screams.</p><p>Now they were back. Maybe this time, they would kill her, just as they had killed Dr. Ziegler. Her body might remain, but everything they ever wanted would be out of their reach for good.<em> She</em> would be out of their reach for good.</p><p>The chains rattled. Just before the release that always dropped her painfully to the ground, an arm wrapped around her torso. It pulled her close and supported her weight without any regard to the blood that streaked her skin. The intimacy - and pain - made her shudder. This had <em>never</em> happened before - it wasn’t efficient, nor did it further their goal of making her miserable.</p><p>“I’ve got you, <em>cariño</em>.” Her breath caught, chest seizing painfully as her entire body tensed. They had sent the Reaper to hurt her, to try to rip the answers from her throat. There was no way - <em>none</em> - that she could hold her ground, not when it was against <em>him</em>. Even knowing that he <em>wasn</em>’<em>t </em>Gabriel, it would still utterly destroy her.</p><p>He was going to break her. She was going to fail.</p><p>The Reaper released the chains and her body slumped, utterly reliant on his strength to hold her upright. With it went her tension: now Angela was shaking again, terrified of what he was going to do with her. She couldn’t catch her breath - why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? - as he held her confidently with one arm.</p><p>“It’s alright, Angela,” he shushed her, trying and failing to sound reassuring, before carefully lowering her to the ground away from the puddle of blood and water at their feet. Crouching, he supported her weight against his chest - the familiarity of it made her eyes well up with tears.</p><p>She looked around the room, searching for something - <em>anything</em>. A friendly face that would help her get through whatever <em>this</em> was. One of her interrogators, the ones who had taken such pleasure in her pain. Any kind of explanation for <em>what</em> was happening. All she found were the mocking blank walls of her cage, blurred by the water in her eyes.</p><p>He shook out some dark cloth - his jacket, the one that she had always seen the Reaper wearing - before gently pulling it onto her naked flesh. It was still warm and had a smoky musk that <em>almost</em> hid the familiar scent of gunpowder and sandalwood. The Reaper was careful of his claws as he tugged the jacket over her shaking, uncooperative arms.</p><p>“I’m getting you out of here.” The Reaper murmured. Angela choked; there was no way she could believe <em>that</em>. She refused to believe it. After everything that had happened to her - after <em>he</em> had put her here - Angela couldn’t dare to. How could she believe that he was Gabriel, that he <em>wasn’t</em> the Reaper? How could she believe that he’d had a change of heart?</p><p>This was cruel, even for him.</p><p>“This will hurt, <em>cariño</em>,” he rumbled, one clawed hand hovering over her destroyed knee in explanation. Of <em>course</em> it would hurt. His very <em>presence</em> hurt. Knowing that Gabriel was so close, yet so terribly far away, was almost physically painful. Then he was hoisting her up, one arm hooked under her knees and the other at her shoulders just under her arms. It hurt - oh, it <em>hurt</em> - and she couldn’t help the agonized cry that escaped.</p><p>“I know, I know.” The Reaper made the low, shushing noise again as he rose, shifting her so that her head rested against his body armor instead of hanging loosely off to the side. “I’m sorry, Angela. Hold on for me.” Confidently, he carried her straight out of the room and into the hallway she had seen only once.</p><p>There was no one out here, just like the time she had escaped. Maybe that wasn’t unusual? Perhaps it was just her down here, so they weren’t worried about an escape - after all, how could she go <em>anywhere</em> with her knee broken as it was? Who would ever expect one of their own - the Reaper, of <em>all</em> people - to rescue her?</p><p>No. Impossible.</p><p>There was no way this was real; this was a dream - a <em>dream</em> - and any moment, her captors would throw that horribly cold water over her and yank it away. They never let her sleep for long, denying her even that small escape. </p><p>But if she was asleep, why did it hurt? Her shattered knee was screaming, her bloody and torn back was aching, and her heart was breaking - if this were a dream, surely she wouldn’t feel this way. How could a dream be so <em>painful</em>?</p><p>“Status?” The Reaper murmured, pulling her out of her distracted thoughts. Angela glanced up towards his mask in confusion - what in the world was he asking for? Before she could decide if she would break her silence and ask, he turned to the left. “The stairs, then.” His steps were measured as he kept his arms steady, trying to minimize the jostling of her body. It didn’t stop the tears from springing and rolling down her cheeks to dampen his armor and the jacket he’d so gently wrapped her in.</p><p>She stared at the ceiling, letting it blur as he carried her along. Angela didn’t believe this was a rescue. Couldn’t - because if she did, and it was a lie, she would shatter into a million pieces. Hope no longer existed in her world: all that was left was pure cynicism and despair. He was taking her somewhere else; that much was true. She was sure the next place he put her would be <em>much</em> worse - somehow - than the room he had just pulled her from.</p><p>The thought made her trembling begin again - or maybe she hadn’t stopped. Angela wasn’t sure. So much was happening that it was hard to keep track. Perhaps it was just worse now, because even her teeth were chattering now from the terror.</p><p>“Angela.” They had stopped. When had he stopped moving? His mask was canted down towards her. “Angela, I know it’s a lot - but I need you to be quiet now. Just for a few minutes.” Quiet? She wasn’t - suddenly, she was aware of the soft keening noise coming from her throat, the sound a mixture of her terror and pain. Angela had no idea how long she had been making the noise, but now that she was aware, she did her best to silence it.</p><p>Angela didn’t know why she had obeyed the order. He was her enemy, no matter what he might say. This wasn’t an escape - it was a <em>trick</em> - and she was just playing into his game. And yet, she had choked the sound off as quickly as he had pointed it out; was it from pride? Or did some small part of her <em>believe</em> this lie?</p><p>“Yes, just like that, <em>cariño</em>.”The endearment ripped at her heart. He must have seen the pain that flashed across her face - he knew her far too well - because his grip tightened slightly as he looked away. “We’ll be out soon.” They were still motionless, waiting in the stairwell. Why weren’t they moving?</p><p>Did it matter?</p><p>The longer they were here in this stairwell, the less time she would spend in whatever new hell they had created. Angela greatly preferred being in his arms - being held with a terrible gentleness, as if he were afraid his touch would break her further - than being strung up in chains. At some point, she had relaxed, her traitorous body leaning into his familiar warmth. </p><p>It was hard to remember he was her enemy when she was pressed against him like this.</p><p>And he <em>was</em> her enemy, she reminded herself sternly. He was just taking her somewhere else to be hurt. Dressing it up as an escape would make it hurt that much more when this trip ended in chains again. Despite knowing all of this, Angela knew that the betrayal - was it a betrayal if he was her enemy? - would rip her to pieces again. She didn’t know if her heart, her soul, could survive a third time.</p><p>Suddenly, they were moving again. The Reaper pushed the door open, and then they were hurrying down the hallway - in the opposite direction that she had chosen during her escape attempt. Angela wasn’t sure where they had to go, but they hadn’t gotten far before the Reaper tensed. Then, ahead, a door opened for a pair of two men. Angela tensed, too - this must be where he was taking her. That hadn’t taken long at all.</p><p>She didn’t recognize the men, but that didn’t matter. Anyone in this place was her enemy and would hurt her.</p><p>The Reaper hesitated for a brief moment - Angela couldn’t understand why. After all, this <em>was</em> what his plan was the whole time. Make her think she was safe only to rip it away once more. It would hurt, but why did that matter? That was the <em>point</em>. Pain was the only constant in her life anymore. Squaring his shoulders, fingers tight on her flesh, the Reaper kept walking as he shushed her under his breath.</p><p>The men were chatting amicably until they realized there was someone else in the hall; when they saw the Reaper’s mask, they paled. If even his own men were terrified of him, how could she be safe in his arms? Then, they noticed her, bundled up in his grasp. They glanced at each other before one seemed to gather some sort of courage.</p><p>“What’s going on?” So this was the game. They were going to play along, make her think this was <em>real</em>. Angela wouldn’t let herself fall for it. She would remain silent - she <em>had</em> to give him the same treatment she had given her previous interrogators. She couldn’t give him a single word. If she did, he <em>would</em> break her, and Angela would fail her friends.</p><p>“The council is not pleased with the lack of results.” The Reaper growled. Angela tried to shrink, make herself smaller and hide in the fabric, as if it would help protect her from what would come next. Just because she expected pain didn’t mean she <em>wanted</em> it. All it did was make her body ache more, and she choked on a groan. His fingers squeezed briefly - in what, comfort? - as he continued speaking to the guards. “We are moving her to a different base, to more... capable hands.”</p><p>“I - I didn’t hear about a transfer.” The guard blustered. Her eyes, strained as they were from the blinding lights, couldn’t tell that they were acting. Their reactions were good - but she knew better. Her eyes skimmed away again, searching as they always did for a friend, but they were still avoiding her.</p><p>“I didn’t realize the council answered to <em>you</em>.” Angela snapped back to the conversation as the guard flushed. “Now, get out of my way.” After another moment of hesitation, the guards stepped aside and watched them pass. Angela stared past the bone-white mask to the ceiling above once more, trying to forget who was carrying her - and where she was surely going to end up.</p><p>“Can you stop it?” The Reaper demanded suddenly, startling Angela, and she tensed again as her eyes went wide. Stop what? What was she doing? “Not you, Angela,” he murmured gently before his attention was drawn elsewhere. “Fuck!” The angry curse had her curling into herself again, and he shook his head. “Fine.” Angela had lost track of where they were, of how many turns and doors they had gone through. It all blurred, white walls and white ceilings, until suddenly there was wind on her face and stars above her.</p><p>It was so <em>dark</em>.</p><p>She couldn’t see <em>anything</em>. How could the Reaper keep walking so confidently? Angela shrank into him, eyes wide as she tried to make out their surroundings. It was impossible. It sounded like they were outside, but she couldn’t see - could they simulate the outdoors in a room? Probably. It was dark, dark, <em>dark</em> - how would she see her friends, see <em>anything</em> in this darkness?</p><p>“Shh, <em>cariño</em>, not yet.” The Reaper said absently, drawing her attention back down to herself. The darkness had evoked terrified whimpers, and she tried to choke them off now. It was <em>hard</em> when she was so afraid, when it was so <em>dark</em> - but she tried. Angela turned and pressed her face against his body armor in an attempt to stifle the sounds.</p><p>Angela had mostly gotten control of herself when an alarm began blaring.</p><p>“<em>Mierda</em>.” The Reaper muttered, breaking into a run. He had just ducked around a corner when a gunshot pierced the night, startling a strangled scream from her throat. That had sounded close. The Reaper shushed her as he kept moving. “Sombra?” His voice was tight with stress. Angela had no idea what a ‘Sombra’ was, so all she could do was press her face against his chest, eyes squeezed tight. Angela shouldn’t feel such desperate hope - she wanted this to be <em>real</em> - but it was there, flickering in her heart again.</p><p>Suddenly he lunged into a doorway as a second gunshot echoed around them. Angela was wide-eyed and shaking, fingers curled in the cloth so tightly that they were going numb. Those shots sounded <em>real</em>, even if she <em>knew</em> they were fake - just like the bullet meant for her had been <em>fake</em>. The Reaper held her tighter; while the claws didn’t pierce her skin, she was confident there would be bruises left behind – though she doubted they would be discernable through all the rest. Then he was moving them again, muttering about a window - though Angela had no idea what a window had to do with <em>anything</em> right now - as they went.</p><p>The escape became disjointed for a short time – she couldn’t see anything except in short bursts when light appeared. All she could do was listen to his panting breaths and pounding heart, so achingly familiar and yet terribly alien, as he carried her through the night. They darted along, rarely pausing or slowing as he took her away.</p><p>Eventually, they reached an area with more light, though he kept them in the shadows still. The sounds of people surrounded them, and she tensed. Who were they? Were these the people that had been chasing them, <em>shooting</em> at them?</p><p>Was it time for the lie to end?</p><p>The Reaper didn’t stop, didn’t bother to attempt to silence her terrified noises any longer; either it didn’t matter, or he was giving up on the effort. Lights pierced and passed by her eyes occasionally, until she finally gave up on looking around and just pressed her face against the Reaper and squeezed her eyes shut.</p><p>She <em>hated</em> how familiar this felt.</p><p>It wasn’t much longer after that that the Reaper was laying her down on something soft. Her eyes opened again, confused. There was a little light so that she could make out her space. This was a vehicle - he was putting her in a car. Why was she in a car? He arranged her limbs so that she was tucked in fully before slinging something into the foot space next to her. Then he leaned in and grabbed a strap.</p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you, Angela.” He soothed when she tried to scramble back, whimpering and shaking in terror and pain. Here it was; this was where it would start. “It’s to keep you safe while I drive.” No, that was <em>not</em> what those were for. Restraints held you in place, kept you weak and trapped while others hurt you. He didn’t give her much choice, though - of course he wouldn’t - as he clipped her into place. “It’ll be alright, <em>cariño</em>, you’ll see.”</p><p>Then he was pulling away, slamming something - a door, the car door - that made everything jostle and shake briefly. After a few moments, where he muttered to himself where she couldn’t hear, he climbed into the seat before her. Wordlessly, he shifted the rearview mirror to see her before turning the vehicle on and driving off into the night.</p><p>If this was a dream, Angela hoped she never woke up.</p><p>---</p><p>Gabriel glanced up at the mirror again, checking to make sure Angela was alright – or, rather, as alright as she could be. He needed to find a place to pull over and dress her wounds, but putting distance between them and Talon was a higher priority. Sombra had run interference as much as possible, but unless she had wanted to give herself away – which she did not – she’d had to cooperate with them as they had searched. If it hadn’t been for Sombra, though, he’d have been shot by Widowmaker before they had escaped the base.</p><p>He had destroyed the earpiece before climbing into the vehicle. The only electronic he’d brought along was the phone Sombra had given him. Gabriel had asked Sombra to check him for any tracking devices, anything at all that might lead Talon to wherever it was they escaped to; surprisingly, there were none - or she was lying. Either way, they were as safe as possible at the moment.</p><p>They had been on the road for maybe fifteen minutes. Angela had managed to fall into some semblance of sleep a few minutes back. A sharp blade of guilt twisted in Gabriel’s heart as he realized that between the warmth of the car, the relative softness of the seat beneath her, and his jacket wrapped carefully around her, she was the most comfortable she’d been in the past month. Gabriel kept glancing in the side mirrors, worried that they might be being followed and keeping an eye out for any low-flying aircraft.</p><p>The car hit something - a pothole, probably - that rattled the vehicle with a loud <em>thunk</em>.</p><p>It was then that Angela came shrieking back to life, startling him badly enough that he almost wrecked the vehicle. He forced his eyes to remain on the road as he pulled over. Then, after they were safely stopped, he allowed himself to turn and look at the broken angel in the backseat.</p><p>“Angela,” he crooned, making no move to reach out and touch her - even though he wanted to. No, Angela wouldn’t welcome the Reaper’s touch. “Angela, you’re alright. Come back, <em>cariño</em>.” He knew the bump couldn’t have been pleasant on her wounds, and the sound would have been jarring, but he hadn’t expected her to lose it like this. Then again, she <em>had</em> been tortured for over a month; he shouldn’t expect anything. She had probably been in the middle of a nightmare - if he coupled that with new, terrifying sensations and the Reaper hovering over her, he couldn’t really be surprised.</p><p>Her screams had died out relatively quickly, for which he was grateful; it was far too loud for the confined space. Her eyes, however, were still glazed and unseeing. It took several precious minutes before she pulled herself back from wherever she had gone. He knew he shouldn’t have waited - Talon was searching - but he wanted to make sure she was alright before they continued along the road.</p><p>“Are you still with me?” He asked once her eyes came into focus. Angela glanced around the car with confusion, as if she had forgotten where she was. Her gaze cut across him as she investigated the space before jolting back to his mask, eyes wary and body tense. “Are you still with me?” Gabriel repeated patiently. </p><p>“I am.” Her voice was rough and quiet, even for how close they were. “For now.” The response gave him a small amount of hope, that maybe he hadn’t broken her completely beyond repair. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder it was a mechanical response, one so ingrained that she couldn’t help the answer, or a chosen one. His eyes swept over her one more time before nodding and turning back to the steering wheel.</p><p>“Good.” Gabriel pulled back onto the road. “I’ll find somewhere for us to hide soon; just hang in there a little longer for me, alright?” He wasn’t exactly sure where this hiding spot would be, but he knew that he had to find something soon. Angela needed to be taken care of before he could try to get them to any of his safe houses.</p><p>He had a safe house in Medina, but that would be nearly a full day of travel - not possible for them right now. So, he had followed a more reasonable path and drove them south towards Hillah, hoping to throw off their searchers. North held the relative anonymity of Baghdad and the remnants of Overwatch; hopefully, that was the direction Talon had headed in their search. Eventually, he would have to take them north towards Europe, but it was safer to travel south for now.</p><p>Between his need to keep from drawing any attention to them and Angela’s fitful sleeping, it took nearly an hour to reach the city. It had left her bleeding longer than he had liked, but there wasn’t anything he could do for it. At least his jacket – and the car seat – would help staunch some of the bleeding.</p><p>After a little searching, Gabriel found a rundown office building, clearly closed based on the plywood over the windows and chains on the door. He circled the building and parked behind it in an alley in an effort to keep them hidden. As soon as the car stopped moving, Angela’s eyes flew open again.</p><p>At least this time, she wasn’t yelling.</p><p>“Angela?” Gabriel asked cautiously, trying to gauge her stability. He needed her relatively cooperative to take care of her; this area wasn’t so deserted that her screams would go unnoticed, but it was the best he could find on short notice. She blinked before turning to look at him, some life in her eyes. “Are you with me?” Angela looked around the vehicle, searching as she often did, before returning to him.</p><p>Hesitantly, she licked her lips and ducked her head in a jerky nod before shivering despite the heaters he had turned on, tucking herself further into his jacket. Gabriel frowned behind the mask; she shouldn’t be cold.</p><p>“I’ll be right back.” He promised her before slipping out of the car. Gabriel wasn’t terribly worried about her managing an escape, not now; she was too tired and they had just shattered her knee again hours previously. Gabriel <em>hated</em> that his waiting had let her be hurt so badly again.</p><p>In a week - if they were still together in a week - he would have his hands full in keeping her from running.</p><p>Instead, he turned his attention to the building. Gabriel made quick work of the door, breaking the chain and busting the lock to let himself in. It wasn’t the best space - dust and dead bugs littered the floor - but they only needed it for a few hours. At least the single bathroom had running water, which was more than the car had.</p><p>Satisfied, Gabriel returned to the vehicle, briefly pausing at the driver’s door to turn it off and glance at the woman in the backseat. Angela hadn’t moved from her prone position on the seat; he wondered if she had tried to move at all or if she had just remained lifeless the entire time. With a sigh, he opened the back door. The broken woman jumped, blank eyes focusing on him. As he leaned in to release the seat belts that held her in place, she made a small noise of fear and cringed again.</p><p>“It’s alright, Angela.” Gabriel wondered how many times he would say that phrase - and if she would ever believe it. “I’ve found us a place to hide for a few hours.” Ignoring the way she recoiled from him, he carefully removed the straps and grabbed the pack he’d slung into the foot space. It had everything he needed for her immediate treatment.</p><p>“I’m going to pick you up - it will hurt your knee.” Gabriel didn’t know how much she was comprehending at this moment, but hopefully, by explaining himself, she wouldn’t begin screaming again. The Reaper thought it was foolish; just get the task <em>done</em> already because they were wasting time. Then, he leaned in and carefully levered her out of the space. Fortunately, she didn’t scream, but she did whimper lowly as he led them away from the car.</p><p>Once inside, he hauled her into the bathroom and set her upright on the small counter inside. He left his hands hovering around her, worried she would slump and fall off it entirely. After everything she had been through and the wounds <em>still</em> on her body, he wouldn’t blame her for being weak. He was surprised she was staying upright at all.</p><p>There had been stains on the seat where she had lain, proving that she had at least bled enough to seep through the thick cloth of his jacket. While it wasn’t completely worrying - she had her nanites and had experienced worse, after all - he still wanted to treat them. It would, at the very least, make them both more comfortable.</p><p>“Will you let me look at your back?” Angela tensed at the request, pulling the jacket tighter around her. “Look,” he opened the pack to show her the gauze and ointment within, “it’s not a trick.” He held it within her reach, so she could poke through and see it was just standard medical supplies - items she was familiar with - but she simply looked down at the bag with hollow eyes.</p><p>“<em>Mi corazón</em>, please.” It was a low blow. He <em>knew</em> it even as the endearment passed his lips. The Reaper was taut with impatience, itching to tear it from her so they could keep moving, but Gabriel refused; as much as possible, he wanted her consent. They had taken far too much from her already. Angela shivered and looked away, staring at a wall instead of towards him or the supplies.</p><p>After a long silence, one that Gabriel worried he would have to break again, she finally sighed and let the jacket go in submission. Angela had a resigned, faraway look as she stared at anything but him. It wasn’t the best response, but at least it was <em>something</em>, right?</p><p>Gabriel carefully tugged his gloves off - the claws would do him no good here - to reveal his scarred, ashen hands. Angela didn’t look down as he carefully peeled the jacket from her body, doing his best to keep from hurting her as it stuck to the open wounds. He let the bloody cloth pool at her hips as he assessed her back.</p><p>There was so much damage that he wasn’t sure where to start - <em>he</em> wasn’t the doctor in this room. Then again, at this moment, neither was she. He regretted that he hadn’t been able to steal away her staff, too; that would have solved a lot of his problems.</p><p>Still, he had made his choice; he would be whatever Angela needed him to be. Gabriel grabbed some gauze and wet it so he could clean the wounds as best he could. She shuddered and shivered at the cool cloth, wincing and flinching away when Gabriel touched a particularly sensitive spot, but she remained silent. A quick look showed that her face was deathly pale, defeated eyes staring straight ahead as she bit her lip so hard, he worried she would bite through; based on the blood and scabs at her mouth, she’d already done so at least once in the recent past.</p><p>He wanted to say something to fill the silence, but what was there to say? That he was <em>sorry</em>? That he shouldn’t have broken the <em>only</em> promise that had ever truly mattered? That he should never have taken her, should <em>never</em> have put her in that room? There were no comforting things he could say to her, <em>nothing</em> he could say to her after everything she had gone through because of him. It was clear, by the way she shrank away and couldn’t bear to even look at him, that she wanted nothing to do with him - and he couldn’t blame her.</p><p>But he was all she had.</p><p>It took time and a lot of water to clean the gore from her body. Despite the horrific damage to her back, the front had been the hardest. He had moved to stand before her, gauze damp with water and blood in his hand, and she had flinched away so hard he’d had to catch her before she completely fell off the counter. While one hand braced her, the other had carefully swabbed at her stomach and breasts. Every flinch and shudder was a dagger in his heart, but he welcomed the pain - he deserved this and more.</p><p>Finally, he practically bathed her in the ointment that - according to the packaging - was supposed to help fight infection as well as reduce pain and inflammation. He doubted that it would do much good for her, considering all the open flesh, but it couldn’t hurt, could it? The Reaper thought it was a wasted effort; her nanites were going to heal her anyway, so what was the point?</p><p>Angela had stopped flinching by then; the far away, glazed look was back. Gabriel hated that look, hated that she felt the need for escape, but it was a welcome respite as he wiped the ointment across her wounds and wrapped the bandages around her.</p><p>By the time he was done, her entire torso from breasts to hips was wrapped in layers of gauze. He’d run out of bandages then - he’d underestimated the amount he’d need - and was forced to leave her bloody and burned legs unwrapped. At least he had been able to clean them, and they were beginning to scab over; hopefully, after a few days of rest, most of them would be healed enough that movement wouldn’t break them open again. If she were lucky, these, at least, wouldn’t join the scars that were already scattered across her body.</p><p>“Angela?” Gabriel asked quietly as he packed away what little was left. He had wanted to feed her as well, but he’d worried she would choke herself out of terror while he was working. Now, with her gone for however long she chose, it would have to wait. She’d spent plenty of time hungry, but he had hoped to end that now. Instead, he tugged out a new set of fabric - a green, button-up dress that he had snagged from some store. It wasn’t much, but it would cover her and probably give her some sense of security.</p><p>It was uncomfortable, dressing her when she was staring vacantly at nothing, but he slid her limp arms into the sleeves and made quick work of the buttons.</p><p>Work complete, he slung the pack over his shoulder and lifted Angela up once more. He watched her face, wondering if the pain from this movement would bring her back, but she was still gone. Shaking his head, he carried her back out into the night. This time, he settled her in the passenger seat - reclined slightly so she could lay more comfortably - and buckled her in. Out of the pack came a protein bar and a water bottle, which he set in the center console for whenever she returned.</p><p>They had a long drive ahead of them; hopefully, they could make it before Talon found them.</p><p>---</p><p>Angela returned hours later, long after the sun had peaked over the horizon. She had shifted, the movement pulling his attention from the road momentarily, before looking around the car with that same curious look she’d had before. He kept quiet, letting her get her bearings in peace. Finally, once Angela went still again, hands twisted in the soft, green cloth, he reached for the protein bar between them. She flinched, proving that - even though her eyes were downcast and her face was angled away - she was intensely focused on him. It was an effort to keep driving safely while ripping the package open - he should have opened it before driving - but he managed.</p><p>“Here,” he offered, extending the opened package towards her. “I know you’re hungry.” It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like they had a lot of options. “You’ll want to eat it slowly; there’s water, too.” Angela stared at the food for a long, considering moment before reaching out with a trembling hand. Once she had it, she fell onto it ravenously - unsurprising, despite his warning. He should have known better: they had trained her to eat quickly or suffer consequences.</p><p>“<em>Slowly</em>, Angela.” He snapped in hopes that his voice would slow her down; no such luck there. The bar was gone in less than a minute, leaving her picking at the crumbs on the dress and inside the packaging. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be sick.</p><p>Gabriel left the water bottle, also unopened, where it sat. He doubted she had the strength to open it as she was now, and he wanted to let her stomach settle before adding anything <em>else</em> to it. Angela didn’t seem to notice the water right now, though he’d mentioned it, which made the denial that much easier.</p><p>Once she was finished getting every bit of sustenance from the package, she crumpled it in her hand. She turned her attention to the window, watching the trees pass by; Gabriel got the impression that she was more trying to <em>not</em> look at him than to look at the scenery. Her entire body was tense, hands balled into fists in her lap and jaw clenched.</p><p>That was fine, he told himself. They didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to say anything except for what was necessary to keep her safe and - relatively - healthy.</p>
<hr/><p>“Yeah, Sombra?” Baptiste demanded, angry. He hadn’t expected to hear from her, not after his request for a favor had gone terribly wrong. Despite trying to warn Dr. Ziegler, she had still been captured. He was positive it was Talon that had taken her; he had <em>just</em> found proof that she was a target only a week before someone had kidnapped her.</p><p>He had called Sombra when the news had spread, but she had ignored him. That had solidified his beliefs; why would his friend - and they <em>were</em> friends - ignore him unless she had information she didn’t want to share?</p><p>She was prideful, after all. To have been beaten to the punch must have stung.</p><p>With his knowledge, he had gone to the Rialto base to stake it out and search for clues. Baptiste would have shared the information, but he wasn’t sure who to trust. There were so many organizations trying to find the doctor - but he knew that Talon had eyes and ears everywhere. He didn’t want the doctor to be put into more danger than necessary - nor did he want a target on <em>his</em> back while he searched.</p><p>“Hey, <em>mijo</em>,” Sombra’s typically boisterous voice was subdued, as if she were trying to not to be overheard. “So, about that favor...” Baptiste rolled his eyes, ducking back and away from where his stakeout position. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the task while talking to her.</p><p>“I thought you were going to warn her.” Baptiste accused. “I <em>know</em> Talon has her.” He just hadn’t figured out <em>where</em> they had her. There were so many bases scattered across the globe; Rialto had just happened to be the one closest to him. He’d hoped to pull the information from one of the higher-ranking agents, but he’d had no luck there - and now Talon was aware of his presence.</p><p>“I <em>tried</em>, <em>mijo</em>, honestly.” She defended, indignant. “It’s not <em>my</em> fault the <em>doctora</em> didn’t take my warning seriously.” Baptiste knew that Sombra was a liar - one of the best, really - but he didn’t think she was lying to him now. He sighed, deflating.</p><p>“Do you know where she is, then?” Baptiste barely knew the doctor - they had only worked together the one time in Venezuela - but he knew she was a good person who deserved saving. She was the type of person the world needed: a brilliant doctor with a literal healing touch. If he could, he would help her.</p><p>“Even better,” Sombra confided, voice now sly, “I know where she’s going.” Baptiste knew, then, that she had helped the doctor escape; despite failing the first time, Sombra had still tried to fulfill her promise. It seemed she had been successful. “Currently, she’s heading out to Medina, Iraq.”</p><p>“Currently?” Baptiste echoed.</p><p>“Yeah - the Reaper has a hiding spot out there; I doubt he knows I know about it.” Of course, she knew about it; Sombra found out <em>everything</em> about <em>everyone</em>. It was what made her so scary - and why he had asked her to warn Dr. Ziegler. If anyone could have found and reached the doctor, it would have been Sombra. But -</p><p>“The <em>Reaper</em>?” Absolutely no way. That man was <em>death</em>. He didn’t take prisoners, didn’t take <em>anything</em> except blood. He was one of the most - if not <em>the</em> most - dangerous men in Talon - and Sombra wanted Baptiste to believe that <em>he</em> had broken Dr. Ziegler out?</p><p>“I know, right?” She chuckled. “But yeah, he’s got her. Talon’s <em>not</em> happy; they’re looking all over for them. I doubt he’ll stay in Medina long - he’ll probably try to reach out to Overwatch here soon - but<em>... </em>the <em>doctora</em> was in pretty bad shape.” Unsurprising, but chilling nonetheless. He’d never seen the results of torture personally, but he’d done some digging about it during his medical career in preparation for the potential inevitability.</p><p>“Of course I’ll help her. Medina, you said?” Baptiste was already trying to figure out how he was going to get to Iraq with any kind of swiftness.</p><p>“I said Medina, <em>currently</em>.” Sombra corrected. “I’m calling in some favors; they’ll be in Numbani before the end of the day.” She sounded very confident - she must have <em>excellent</em> intelligence on whoever she was calling. Not only to complete a transport within the next - he glanced at his watch - sixteen hours, but to also keep quiet about <em>who </em>they were transporting. “Get to the airport; I’ve got transportation for you, too.” Baptiste scoffed.</p><p>“You could have just started with that, you know.” He told her, moving to pack up his survey site. He’d go back to his tiny hotel room and pack. When he arrived in Numbani, he’d get supplies to treat the doctor.</p><p>“Where’s the fun in that?” Sombra asked, and he chuckled.</p><p>“I won’t make them wait <em>too</em> long.” The doctor needed him, after all. If he didn’t need to erase his presence in Rialto, to keep Talon from finding out it was <em>him</em>, he’d just leave his luggage behind.</p><p>“Take care, <em>mijo</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, you too.”</p><p>---</p><p>Sombra took hiding in plain sight to a whole different level. The apartment was eight stories off the ground and required a passcode to enter, which had surprised him considering most bolt holes were <em>hidden</em>. Baptiste shook his head and began setting up the apartment for the injured doctor. Foolishly, he hadn’t asked Sombra about Dr. Ziegler’s wounds, so he’d had to guess at what he would need. Mostly, Baptiste had gotten a lot of gauze with a sprinkling of other items. He’d have to get more supplies after he assessed his patient.</p><p>Maybe, if he were lucky, the Reaper would be cooperative and get the supplies for him while he worked. It would be the most efficient use of their time - but <em>cooperative</em> wasn’t a word generally associated with the Reaper. Then again, this entire <em>situation</em> wasn’t something that would be associated with the Reaper - unless, of course, the Reaper was the one doing the hunting. Baptiste was pulled out of his musing by the man himself storming into the small apartment, Dr. Ziegler cradled carefully in his arms.</p><p>The sight was absolutely disconcerting and left him staring.</p><p>“Well?” The Reaper demanded impatiently. Baptiste shook off the feeling; he could be weirded out by the Reaper’s apparent change - discovery? - of heart later. Right now, there was the injured doctor to tend to. He cleared his throat.</p><p>“You can put her on the bed,” he explained, gesturing towards the appropriate door. The Reaper turned and stalked through it, leaving Baptiste to trail behind him. Baptiste watched as the Reaper gently laid out the doctor, taking special care with her left knee; Baptiste eyed it critically. It was black and terribly swollen - considering where she had been, he was surprised there weren’t <em>more</em> broken bones. As the Reaper stepped away to loom against the far wall with his arms crossed, Baptiste took his place at Dr. Ziegler’s side.</p><p>“Dr. Ziegler?” Baptiste asked, trying to catch her gaze. It was impossible - she was staring blankly up at the ceiling; Baptiste couldn’t even tell if she’d heard him. He glanced back towards the Reaper. “Is this normal?” Did she have a head wound, or was this psychological? There were bruises and cuts on her face, so it could be either.</p><p>“Yes.” The Reaper bit out. That wasn’t a good sign, but he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about that. He checked her head over but couldn’t find any external sign of major trauma. She had a bruised cheek, and her lip was scarred and bloody where she had bitten through it, but there was nothing that would explain the doctor’s current mental absence. </p><p>He’d tried to shoo the Reaper out then, for Dr. Ziegler’s propriety, but the man had just growled at him. Baptiste, realizing it was a fight he wouldn’t win, turned back to his task. It wasn’t long before he had set her green dress aside and cut the gauze away. Baptiste inhaled sharply, horrified at the sight.</p><p>“Do you know what they did?” He asked, barely keeping his voice steady as he carefully began cleaning out the wounds. Baptiste hadn’t realized how emaciated she was when she’d been bundled up in the Reaper’s arms, but laid out like this it was obvious. He could make out her ribs under the cuts and bruises, her cheeks hollow, and eyes sunken. They’d starved her, probably dehydrated her too - he would have to figure out a way to combat those safely. Across her thin form were relatively fresh black-purple bruises mixed with healing yellow-green. There were gashes torn haphazardly across her flesh with no apparent pattern or reason. He hoped the majority - all, really, but he <em>knew</em> he wasn’t <em>that</em> lucky - of her wounds were external, because he had no way to assess internal trauma here.</p><p>“The better question is: what <em>didn</em>’<em>t</em> they do.” The man replied after a long moment. Baptiste’s hands paused then, just for a moment, as he looked down at the poor, broken woman on the bed. “I got her out before they could rape her,” the Reaper continued, voice deadly and cold, “but she suffered plenty of other abuse.” What a horrible silver lining, Baptiste thought. It didn’t take long to clean the wounds - surprisingly, the Reaper had done a decent job there.</p><p>Baptiste followed the lines of red to her legs, finding burns among the gashes. He frowned; that would make wrapping the cuts harder since the burns needed to breathe. Some looked old and scarred, but a few were fresh and bubbling with blisters. Still, he worked his way down - and looked at the bottoms of her feet when prompted by the Reaper. He hadn’t realized that would be a target, too. The burns there were all old, but he noted them - he would need to get burn cream for all these wounds.</p><p>Then Baptiste shifted her so he could see her back. Or rather, <em>couldn</em>’<em>t</em>.</p><p>“What...” His voice petered out, mouth temporarily unable to form words as he stared. It seemed that her body was healing faster, here - but the wounds were still terrible. Strips of dead flesh hung raggedly along the streaks of red scabs; some were bleeding from his jostling.</p><p>“I told you: she suffered.” The Reaper growled. Baptiste nodded jerkily; he <em>had</em> been warned, but<em> nothing</em> could have prepared him for this. Baptiste supported the woman carefully, considering how to best treat her back. He worried about damaging her knee further; Baptiste wasn’t a doctor that knew how to put such delicate parts back together. Hell, he wasn’t a doctor at all - he was a combat medic. Still, he had a job to do. After a moment, Baptiste gently rolled her onto her stomach so that he could see her back entirely.</p><p>The Reaper had cleaned these wounds, too. All he needed to do was remove the dead skin. Then, he was propping her up so he could slather ointment across her chest and back before wrapping her up with gauze again. The entire time, Baptiste could feel the heavy gaze of the Reaper, watching to make sure he didn’t hurt the doctor any further.</p><p>It was one of the most stressful treatments he had ever administered - and he had worked in war zones.</p><p>“There,” he said, sitting back with a stretch. He had treated Dr. Ziegler to the best of his ability with what supplies he had, and she was now bandaged and dressed once more. Having seen her, he had a better idea of what other things they would need. She had remained still and vacant the entire time; it was only her shallow breaths and faint pulse that had convinced Baptiste she was still alive at times. He wasn’t a psychologist of any kind, but he knew that <em>this</em> couldn’t be good.</p><p>“How is she?” The Reaper demanded, moving away from the wall to hover over the bed on the opposite side. If Baptiste didn’t know better - and hell, apparently he didn’t considering the situation - he’d say the man looked worried, which was <em>impossible</em> because he was wearing a mask and body armor.</p><p>“Physically?” Baptiste gestured broadly towards Dr. Ziegler’s body. “She’s healing - she’s gonna survive. I don’t know about her knee - she needs a <em>real</em> doctor for that, but I’ll get a brace or something for it. Everything else?” He sighed. “Dr. Ziegler will have scars, but the gashes should be healed by the end of the week.” Baptiste had once been envious of her nanite technology and her accelerated healing, but now - seeing <em>this</em> - he wasn’t jealous at all.</p><p>Those nanites had kept her alive, but at what cost?</p><p>“Mentally? I don’t know, man.” Baptiste sighed. “I don’t know if it’s a head wound or if it’s something else; I don’t deal with that kind of stuff.” He was used to gunshot wounds and field amputations - torture was a little out of his depth. Generally, he was only with his patients for a short time, then he never saw them again; long-term care wasn’t <em>exactly</em> his forte.</p><p>“It’s not a head wound.” The Reaper informed him. Baptiste glanced up at him curiously, but if anyone would know, it would be him.</p><p>“Then I <em>really</em> can’t help with that.” The Reaper turned his gaze onto him then, and Baptiste could feel the baleful glare coming from behind the mask. “Man, don’t give me that look,” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “If I could help her, I <em>would</em>. I need more supplies to help get her physically healthy, but I can’t do anything about her mind.” The Reaper huffed.</p><p>“Go get whatever she needs.” The Reaper ordered eventually. Baptiste turned away to hide his eye roll. He wandered off to the bathroom to wash his hands and then headed towards the exit, leaving the supplies strewn about - he’d need them soon enough.</p><p>“No, no, don’t thank me,” he muttered as he closed the front door behind him, not daring to say anything where the Reaper could hear him. “It’s not like I flew halfway across the world or anything.” He’d have come to help Dr. Ziegler anyway, but the Reaper could be a <em>little</em> more grateful, couldn’t he?</p><p>Then again, he <em>was</em> the Reaper.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>All I have is one last chance,<br/>
I won’t turn my back on you.<br/>
Take my hand, drag me down;<br/>
If you fall then I will too.<br/>
And I can’t save what’s left of you.<br/>
- Without You [Breaking Benjamin]</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1: It’s not like I have anything better to do.</p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've posted this same story on tumblr [handle thebrighteye]; it has a pandora playlist for this story if anyone is interested!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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